


Dance Until Dawn

by mad_martha



Series: All Roads Lead To Haven [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, Goats, Gossip, Humor, Romance, The Author Regrets Everything, inept romantics, oh my god just bonk already, rabid bears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Steve make plans.  The gods laugh at them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Until Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a flashfic. I'm the only person I know whose flashfics are in excess of 20,000 words. It runs concurrent to _The Devil You Know_ , but can be read independently. And for the record? If you'd told me when I posted that story that my next story in this universe would be a Captain America romance, I would have laughed at you. Instead, the muse laughs at me - every - single - time.

Peggy was re-pinning her hair when someone tapped on the outer door, surprising her into a twitch. The pin slipped from her fingers to clatter on the table top, and Lucky promptly pounced on it. She cursed under her breath.

"Who is it? Lucky, give me that ..."

"Only me," a familiar voice replied, and Kolsen put his head around the edge of the inner door. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, Phil! Of course – I just came up to change, I've been to sword practice." Peggy sighed and gave up on trying to retrieve the pin while she still had one hand holding up a length of hair. With both hands free she could firmly lift the cat _off_ the pin and put her back on the floor. "Sorry, darling, but I can't let you keep this one. I haven't found where you've hidden all the others yet, and I'm running out of pins."

Kolsen chuckled. "There's a reason I don't let any of the palace cats adopt me."

"Is that so?" Peggy shot him a crooked smile under upraised arm as she tugged her hair up again and firmly pinned it in place. "Funny how I've seen at least two haunting your office."

He had a misleadingly gentle, innocent smile. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course not. Is there something you need me for? I'll have the recruitment numbers for you before dinner. I just need to check one set, I think they've under-reported."

"That's fine." Kolsen leaned against the doorpost. "I thought you'd want to know, we have a new trainee."

"Do we?" She picked up her bits and pieces – keys, a small horn comb, a clean handkerchief, a few coins – and stuffed them into her belt-pouch, sheathed one knife at her hip and a second in her sleeve. "Well, that's hardly a surprise. Four Companions went out on Search in the past ten days, so I was rather hoping we'd have more than one by now."

"This fellow wasn't too far away – not too far away for a Companion, anyway. He was stationed at the Guard Post at Trevale."

Peggy gave Kolsen a startled look. "A soldier?"

"A captain no less."

"Unusual! I take it he won't need the standard orientation then. Did you want me to handle it?"

Kolsen gave her a thoughtful look. "I was wondering if you'd want to. He asked about you when he arrived."

Peggy froze.

When she didn't say anything, Kolsen added, "Tall, blond, really quite amazing physique ... name of Steve Rogers. Perhaps you met him while you were out on the circuit of the East Border Guard Posts last year?"

"Yes, I – that is – " Peggy took a careful breath and turned to face him squarely. "Actually, Phil, it might be better if someone else handles his orientation. If that's not a problem."

"That can be arranged." His expression remained calm, non-judgemental. "Do I also need to arrange things so that you don't see him at all?"

Despite all her training and experience, Peggy felt the blush spreading across her cheeks. For a moment she looked away, reaching for her inner balance, and when she turned back Kolsen was smiling very faintly, his eyes as kindly as ever.

"I take it he's said something?" she said ruefully. He gave a faint, non-committal _hm_. "Well, this is embarrassing."

"I've seen him," Kolsen said, and his eyes crinkled up in amusement. "If something _didn't_ happen between you, I'll have to nominate you for sainthood, and perhaps have you committed for insanity as well."

She breathed a laugh. "Ah yes, I forgot - blond and buff is your type too, isn't it? What's the name of the champion in those hero-tales you're so fond of?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I'll admit I had a moment when I first set eyes on him," Kolsen acknowledged, his smile growing. He held up his thumb and forefinger less than half an inch apart. "Just a _tiny_ one. The resemblance is remarkable ... if I knew what you were referring to. And I don't."

"Of _course_ not," she teased, but she was grateful for his understanding. "It's all right – you don't need to come up with ways for me to avoid him. I'm being stupid, because I didn't even have a fling with him. I mean, I wanted to ... I fully intended to. And I'm sure you'll agree that no one could blame me for that.   But then I got called away to the next outpost unexpectedly, and – " She sighed. "I should have said something to him before I left, but it was awkward and I knew I wouldn't be going back – it seemed so much easier to just _go_ , instead of giving him excuses. Rowenna wasn't pleased with me about it, but I honestly didn't think I would see him again, so what was the point?" She huffed at herself impatiently, annoyed. "Of _course_ it's come back to bite me on the arse."

"And now you have the opportunity to explain it to him," Kolsen suggested gently.

Peggy gave him a look, aghast. "Really?"

"Really. He didn't seem upset to me. He just asked if you were out on circuit or stationed in Haven. Honestly? Based on a ten minute conversation with him, my gut says he wouldn't even know how to hold a grudge. But you know him better than I do."

Peggy sighed. "No ... I don't think he'd know how to hold a grudge either." She gave him a candid look. "That makes it worse, really."

Kolsen nodded, understanding but not commenting, and for a moment or two she was left to wrestle with dilemma.

"Valdemar's a funny place," he said finally. "We might not have the old magic any more, but we still have magical things that really count when we need them to. The Truth Spell ... our Gifts ... that little word 'sorry' ..."

She bit her lip. "You're right," she admitted. "I should apologise at least."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Kolsen smiled at her, and turned to go. At the last moment he turned back to her. "But what happens after he accepts the apology?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, Herald Gossip-Pot sir!" Peggy said tartly, but they were both chuckling as he walked out of the door.

 

xXx

 

"I had an auntie like you back in the old country," a female voice said softly from just behind Kolsen as he started to walk down the corridor.

He didn't jump, but only because he was used to her ways by now. "The little I know about your life in "the old country" makes me doubt that," he said mildly.

She came alongside him and he wasn't at all surprised to see her dressed in the drab cap and gown of a palace servant. She was even carrying a little basket of cleaning tools. She gave him a sidelong look. The linen cap covering her vivid hair did nothing to hide the beauty of her fine features, although he knew that if she didn't want this to be noticed, then it wouldn't be. It was one of her multitude of talents.

"There are always gossipy matchmaking old aunties everywhere," she said. "What else are they to do with themselves?"

"I can't imagine," Kolsen agreed. "Some would say their younger nieces seem to put those talents to unusual uses, though."

She sniffed, but a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth for moment. "I like to keep my hand in."

"So do we gossipy old aunties. Besides, there's little point to struggling in life if we can't enjoy its pleasures when an opportunity presents itself. Don't you think?"

She raised her delicate eyebrows at this. "Gossiping and matchmaking are a pleasure that you enjoy?"

He smiled. "That too. But I like to see my friends be happy, and it seems to me that there's an opportunity here for Peggy, if she can just make that little push past her embarrassment."

"For an affair with the new trainee?"

Kolsen hesitated for a moment. "Perhaps. If that's all it needs to be. But it would nice if it could be something more, don't you think?"

"Love, you mean." She sounded dismissive, which didn't surprise him. He knew enough of her history to understand that she viewed all forms of human interaction with instinctive scepticism.

"Yes, if there's potential for it. You don't agree."

"Love is for children."

"Probably because children are capable of accepting love unconditionally."

"Then let us hope for Herald Peggy's sake that the new trainee is a child," she said dryly.

Kolsen thought about Captain Rogers and his open, honest face for a moment. He'd meant what he said to Peggy; if it had been possible for the man to hide a grudge behind that face, he seriously doubted that he would have been Chosen.

"Not _too_ much of a child though," he said, and he quirked a little smile at her.

She rolled her eyes, but the dimple reappeared for a moment. "I have seen him. Even if he is as charmingly innocent as he seems, I feel sure she will enjoy advancing his education."

"Who wouldn't enjoy taking that splendid young man in hand?" he acknowledged, amused.

She side-eyed him again for a moment. "Would you?"

Kolsen chuckled softly. "Thank you, but I already have all the muscular young men I need in my life!"

"I am aware. Are you a child, then, Herald Kolsen?"

The question brought him up short for a moment. He couldn't help thinking that his history precluded him laying claim to any kind of childlike tendencies. And yet ...

"I hope that there is some part of me still capable of childishness," he said eventually.

She studied him, and finally nodded firmly. "Good."

 

xXx

 

Peggy wished she could still chuckle a couple of days later.

Jasper Sitwell had undertaken Captain Rogers' orientation in the end, and she'd decided to wait (not procrastinating! not!) until his schedule had been mostly decided. As an adult trainee, they wouldn't put him in with the younger ones without a very good reason; he certainly wouldn't be joining the same classes, not because he didn't have anything left to learn – on the contrary – but because assessing what additional training he would need was so much more complicated.

Besides, it wasn't as if Peggy didn't have plenty of work on her own plate, so Steve Rogers had been a trainee Herald for nearly a week before she finally had a gap in her schedule that more-or-less matched up to a gap in his.

The Circle had Melinda take him through hand-to-hand combat assessment that afternoon, and if she hadn't been up to her eyes in recruitment reports Peggy would have been tempted to go down to the salle and find a discreet spot where she could watch. She knew Rogers was very good in a variety of forms of combat, but hand-to-hand had a multitude of forms, and Valdemar's army tended to teach a very narrow style. Heralds had to do better than that, which was why the Armsmaster currently had no less than three (non-Herald) instructors in unarmed combat.

Impressive physique would only take him so far. It would have been ... interesting ... to see how Rogers fared against Melinda. Then again, if he was going to be repeatedly wiped across the floor of the salle perhaps he deserved not to have an audience, at least on the first occasion. He would have to learn that being tossed about like a dusty carpet in front of everyone by Melinda, Natasha or Bobbi was just one of those things, though.

In fairness, he hadn't struck her as being the kind of man with a destructive ego (even Heralds were sometimes prey to that kind of pride, and had to be taught better), but Peggy didn't fool herself that she knew him well enough to judge.

So when she quietly slipped into the salle through a side door, he and Melinda had luckily just finished their session. Melinda looked as though she'd enjoyed a gentle stroll through the palace gardens. Steve Rogers was flushed, dripping with sweat, and looked as though he'd just been pounded into the floor by a mountain troll, but he was on his feet.

That was mildly impressive. Most of Melinda's victims stayed on their backs on the floor, whimpering at the rafters, after their first session with her. Granted, most new trainees were younger and less experienced, though.

"That wasn't too bad," Melinda said to him coolly. "I'll discuss scheduling regular sessions with Herald Sitwell later, and he'll put them on your timetable. You're released for the rest of the day now – I don't need to remind you about cooling down before you go and get cleaned up, do I?"

"I'll take a walk around the grounds before I go in," he said. He didn't sound _too_ winded, which was also pretty impressive. He graced Melinda with a well-remembered sweet smile. "I've been an arms instructor myself, so any cramp I get is my own fault."

She nodded, and gave him that tiny smile in return, the one so few people earned from her. "Good. I'll probably see you tomorrow then. Or if not me, it'll be Bobbi, but Sitwell will let you know. Good to meet you, Rogers."

"The pleasure is all mine, Herald – are you a Herald?"

Peggy had to fight down a smile at the look Melinda gave him, but her response was unusually genial.

"You won't find me signing up for anything that involves wearing the most conspicuous uniform in ten kingdoms, Trainee Rogers. It's just Melinda – or Captain May, if you insist on being formal. I'm with the Palace Guard."

"Captain May, then." And he actually offered her his hand to shake.

The look she gave him said as loudly as words, _Are you sure you want to do that?_ but although she let him see that she was considering laying him out flat on the floor again, Melinda only shook it firmly.

The look she gave Peggy as she walked past to the back office – with just a hint of twitched eyebrows and a smirk – made a laugh tremble in Peggy's chest, but she successfully suppressed it. And as soon as Melinda was out of sight (although she had no doubts that she was still somewhere within earshot), she stepped out of her hiding place.

His back was to her, and he was stooping to pick up his tunic and boots, but the movement was caught by the long mirrors that lined one wall of the salle, and she saw him freeze, staring into the water-clear glass. Peggy bit her lower lip sharply, and clasped her hands behind her to still them, as she waited for him to turn and face her.

His face lit up. And if he'd been stiff or closed off, rejecting any friendly overtures, Peggy would not have blamed him, but there was no denying the intense relief and gratitude she felt when the only thing in his face when he turned to her was genuine pleasure.

"Captain Rogers," she said, and she was pleased that her voice was steady.

"Herald Peggy." He sounded so happy. "It's – it's really good to see you again."

"Likewise. It's – That is – I'm sorry it's taken me a few days to say hello, but I've been rather busy."

He nodded, accepting this weak excuse with embarrassing readiness. "No, sure, it's fine. I mean, I've been pretty busy myself. Only seems like I got here yesterday, you know?"

"I can imagine." Peggy cast around desperately for something to say. "How – how are you settling in?" _Oh, for heaven's sake, woman,_ she scolded herself silently. _This is just a conversation! You had six years of lessons in courtly graces, talking to someone like Steve Rogers should NOT be difficult._

 _Courtly graces is designed to stop you putting your foot in your mouth at an ambassador's soiree_ , Rowenna said unexpectedly. _Knowing how to flirt with a social equal is something you're supposed to pick up naturally._

_I'm not trying to flirt with him!_

_Just as well, you're making a miserable job of it._

_And what would you know about it?_

_More than you, it would seem,_ Rowenna said dryly _._

_Ugh. Help?_

_No. You got yourself into this situation, against my advice I might add._ And Rowenna removed herself as quietly as she'd appeared.

"The bunking arrangements are better than in barracks," Steve was saying, with a little grin, "and the food sure is an improvement."

Peggy found herself smiling back. "I'll bet. And – your Companion?"

The look of remembered wonder on his face was, as always, that odd combination of sweet and slightly embarrassing to see. Choosings were very personal to each Herald, and just because you'd experienced it yourself didn't mean that you had a special insight into someone else's. The Herald/Companion bond was unique to each pair.

"That was something else," Steve said, unembarrassed by his own emotional response.

"I know." Peggy knew a little of Steve's personal history, though. "I have to ask – had you ever ridden before?"

He smiled ruefully. "No, but luckily I'm a fast learner."

He did have that reputation. She'd been planning to find out just how fast he learned, that evening before she'd had to leave the Guard Post at Trevale unexpectedly. Which reminded her of what she was _supposed_ to be saying to him now.

"We shouldn't be standing about ... You should be moving around, or you'll stiffen up," she said hastily.

"Walk with me?" Steve asked hopefully.

He made it so easy for her. How could he possibly be for real?

 _He probably isn't_ , Rowenna commented.

_I don't know whether to be hopeful or depressed by that._

When they left the salle, Steve turned automatically onto one of the more obscure paths that would take a very roundabout route back to the Collegium. Excellent for cooling down after strenuous exercise, but –

"You've learned your way around quickly," Peggy observed.

He gave her a little smile. "Wouldn't have made it to captain so soon if I couldn't map out a route or three in my head."

"Very true."

"And I kinda got the impression you wanted to say something to me that you maybe didn't want Captain May to hear."

Rowenna had the nerve to laugh.

 _Hush now,_ Peggy told her _. I have a large portion of Humility Pie to eat._

Rowenna's tone gentled. _Don't build this up into something worse than it really is._

"I've known Melinda long enough to know that she's probably already guessed anything I might have to say," Peggy said wryly. "One of the first things you need to learn as a Herald is that your fellow Heralds gossip like old women."

"She said she isn't a Herald."

"Just as well, really, can you imagine what she'd be like with a Companion as well? Because the second thing you need to learn is that our Companions are even bigger gossips than their Chosen."

Steve chuckled. "Kinda like the barracks, I guess. "Gossip makes the world go 'round", my mama used to say."

"Without the hot air of gossip to hold them up, I'm sure the walls of the Collegium would collapse in on themselves."

They followed the path down past the armoury and the small blacksmith's forge that served it, and out onto a track that curved around part of the Companions' Field.

"I owe you an apology, Captain Rogers," Peggy said eventually.

He glanced at her, calm and unconcerned. "Not sure why, but lay it on me."

"We had an – an arrangement, in Trevale. To have dinner together. But I left without an explanation, without even properly taking my leave of you. And that – " Peggy let out a soft breath. "That was very badly done of me, and I regret it very much. Can you forgive me?"

"You're a Herald," he said quietly. "A Special Messenger. I knew the score – you told me when you arrived at the Guard Post that you might get called away suddenly. That's just how it is."

And there he was, giving her a way out. Pity her conscience wouldn't let her take it. "It wasn't so urgent that I couldn't have spared a few minutes to tell you. Or left a message with someone," Peggy said.

"Then why didn't you?" His voice was gentle, non-judgemental.

It took her a moment or two to find the right words, but there was no sense of impatience in him. And in the end, the answer was simple.

"Because I liked you very much, and I didn't think I would ever see you again. Saying goodbye under those circumstances ... it would have hurt too much."

Steve nodded. "Forgiven, then, because that sounds like a pretty good reason to me," he said. "Besides, I think you've beaten yourself up enough about it already." The tiny smile he gave her turned just a little bit teasing. "Still, if you want to make it up to me ..."

Relief brought a laugh to her throat. "Oh, is that how it is?"

He chuckled too. "That's how it is."

"Very well, what's my punishment?"

"Have dinner with me." He gave her a sidelong look. " _Actually_ have dinner with me this time."

_If you refuse, I'll chase you around this field!_

_If I didn't refuse last time, I'm certainly not going to refuse now._

"I can do that. It'll have to be some time in the future, though, since I know you're confined to the Collegium grounds for the next couple of months." Peggy paused. "Unless ..."

He stopped and raised his eyebrows. "Unless?"

"You could share a table with me in the dining hall this evening."

His smile lit up his face. "Sounds like a plan."

They carried on walking. After a few minutes, Steve said, "Just one other thing ..."

"Oh?"

"Think you can call me Steve?"

He sounded ridiculously hopeful. Peggy wrestled down an inappropriate giggle, and pretended to consider. "I don't know ... do you think you can call me Peggy?"

"Not sure, but I'll give it my best shot," he offered, with a grin.

"Excellent."

 _Bravo!_ Rowenna applauded. _Now excuse me, I need to go tell all my friends._

 _I'm astonished that you haven't been giving them a running commentary,_ Peggy retorted, exasperated and amused in equal measure.

_We're running odds on how quickly you get him into bed. If you could manage it this evening, I'll win the pot._

She couldn't tell if Rowenna was joking. _Do I want to know what the pot is?_

_Probably not ..._

 

xXx

 

There was a candlemark or so left until dinner, so Peggy left Steve outside the trainees' residential wing and went off to finish some business of her own, promising to see him in the dining hall later. Steve watched her go with what he was pretty sure was a stupid smile on his face, then ducked into his little room to grab a clean uniform.

Being an adult trainee had certain advantages, starting with being on a very different schedule to the youngsters. Most of the time he would getting out of arms practice earlier or later than them, which gave him a free run at the bathing room. Steve had experienced a wide variety of washing facilities in his life, from being dunked in his mother's laundry tub after the laundry had had its turn, to a freezing cold river, or the often pricey bathhouses that Haven and the biggest towns of Valdemar boasted. This was the first time he'd encountered hot and cold running water, and bathtubs big enough for a single grown man to stretch out in to soak. (If you wanted a tub to yourself in a bathhouse, you usually had to pay extra.)

It was possibly the single most impressive part of being Chosen so far.

 _Good to know I come second to a tub of hot water,_ Sam said good-humouredly, as Steve submerged himself contentedly.

Steve chuckled. _Give me time to enjoy this stuff, will you? I'm not stupid; I know there's plenty of cold buckets of water in wet tents ahead of me._

_Not as many as you might think. We usually try to get to the nearest village or Waystation._

_They got hot water on tap?_

_Not the Waystations,_ Sam conceded.

_Or most of the villages, I'll bet. And the Special Messengers often sleep out in the open, or even in the saddle sometimes. I remember Peggy telling me that when I met her._

_Peggy, huh?_

Steve caught the sly, teasing note in his Companion's 'voice'. Amused, he asked, _Have you been gossiping?_ He reached for a sponge and began to scrub up.

_I don't gossip; I gather intel._

_Uh huh. And what intel have you been gathering today?_

_I'll let you know when I've analysed it. Don't be late for dinner – it might look a bit pointed after the conversation you just had with her._

Steve grinned. _No fear! I'll see you afterwards, buddy._

 _Oh, don't worry about me if you get a better offer,_ Sam said genially, and he was gone before Steve could protest that he didn't expect anything but good conversation with a very attractive woman that evening.

Anything else would be ... presumptuous.

And if Bucky were there, he'd probably be telling Steve that a little presumpting never hurt nobody, and he should just live a little. Bucky, who was still at the Guard Post at Trevale with the rest of Steve's company -

Steve paused in his scrubbing and slowly leaned back in the water for a moment. He wondered if everything was well there; having your commanding officer abruptly Chosen and whisked away had to be unsettling, to say the least, and potentially disastrous if they were suddenly called up. Sure, everyone here at the Collegium had assured him that the matter would be handled and he didn't need to worry, but that was easier said than done. They were his people, his responsibility. The captain who could walk away from his company without a backwards glance didn't deserve his bars, let alone a set of Herald Whites.

Still ... the guy he'd talked to about it when he arrived in Haven – Herald Kolsen – seemed thoroughly reliable, and he'd given his word that he would deal with the matter. And Peggy had mentioned that she worked with Kolsen. Maybe he could ask her about it later.

And he could write to Bucky. He'd said he would, just before Sam hurried him away.

Conscious of the time, and that the younger trainees would be arriving imminently, Steve finished scrubbing quickly, and hauled himself out of the tub. As he towelled off, he found himself absently reading a notice on the inside of the bathroom door:

 

_Please be considerate of other users of these facilities. When you have finished bathing, drain the bathtub and wipe it out with your used towel. Mop up any water on the floor._

_Used towels and other dirty laundry should be put down the laundry chute, NOT left on the floor._

_Surprise inspections will be carried out!_

_-   Housekeeper_

Steve smiled a little at this, wondering if similar signs were on all of the Collegium's bathroom doors, or just in the trainee wing. Sitwell had given him a quick run-down of the rules on his first day, and Steve had lived too long in barracks not to be rigidly clean and tidy, but adolescents could be messy little beasts.

One good thing about wearing uniforms, he thought when he was back in his room, was that it dealt with any anxieties about what to wear. (Although that problem might resurface later, if he and Peggy did go somewhere other than the Collegium dining hall – he was pretty sure even Heralds didn't wear their Whites to take a girl out for a quiet supper somewhere.) But for now he had a fresh set of Greys that were new and tailored just for him, on account of none of the communal sets being anywhere near his size, so he couldn't help feeling downright dandy as he combed his hair.

He was just pulling on his shoes when someone knocked on his door urgently.

It was Peggy. She was dressed in a set of White leathers with a cloak over them, and there was a pair of bulging saddlebags at her feet. Her expression was stricken.

"You've been called out," he said at once, to spare her having to explain. He ruthlessly shoved down the immediate disappointment he felt – this was not about him.

"There's a situation at Three Rivers," she said urgently. "I can't tell you more – just that I have to go _now_. I'll probably be gone for two or three weeks. Steve, I'm so sorry – "

"Don't be. It's the job and it has to be done."

She huffed a soft sigh. "Can we reschedule? I feel so bad about this."

"Why?" Steve smiled at her. "You've told me you're going this time."

"Yes, I suppose that _is_ something," she said wryly.

He laughed softly. "It's fine. We'll have dinner when you get back. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

"I wish I could say the same." Peggy made a face, but relaxed into a smile. Then, to his surprise, she reached up and kissed his cheek. "Try not to get promoted into Whites before I get back," she murmured into his ear.

And she shouldered the saddlebags and was running down the corridor before he could find his voice again.

"You be careful!" he called after her, but he couldn't be sure she heard him.

After a moment or two, Steve pulled himself together and stepped back inside his room, closing the door.

"Well, darn it," he mumbled. Suddenly dinner in the dining hall didn't seem so appealing, and after a couple of minutes of pacing in the small space between his bed and his desk, he came to a decision. He could get something from the kitchens and take it somewhere quiet to eat, and for that matter he could take writing tools as well and make a start on his letter to Bucky. And he could still have excellent company and conversation, even if it wasn't with Peggy.

 _Sam, buddy, you mind if I bring my rations and eat with you?_ he asked.

 

xXx

 

Peggy rode back into Haven nearly a month later, in a mood of seething aggravation. For the most part she enjoyed working with Valdemar's standing Guard units, but every once in a while she ran into someone who had been promoted to senior rank in spite of clearly being the worst person for the job for any number of (to her) obvious reasons, and -

It usually wasn't pretty, and it was guaranteed to make her unpopular in the short term. But as Herald Kolsen had noted more than once, if life were a popularity contest most Heralds wouldn't make it onto the short-list, let alone win. They wouldn't be doing their jobs if they did.

Funny how the general populace loved Heralds - until they actually had dealings with one.

 _You only think that because your role is to troubleshoot,_ Rowenna commented. _Army units are very tightly-knit, and you only turn up when there's a problem. It's hard to be seen in a positive light that way. Most Heralds get a balance of situations, and on regular circuits people are usually very happy to see them._

 _I know,_ Peggy replied _. It's just frustrating because everyone_ knew _Commander Rilk was a disaster. But none of them wanted to be the one to take action to remove him, and they didn't want_ me _to remove him for some reason either, so now they bitterly resent me for it. It makes no sense!_

 _He was very charming,_ Rowenna said.

_No, he wasn't._

_He was very charming to everyone but you, then. Don't fret about it, Peggy. They'll get over it once the new commander has settled in. And they're back there, and you're here now._ Rowenna paused. _Didn't you promise to have dinner with Captain Rogers when you got back?_

Which was a very good point. _That would be an improvement_ , Peggy agreed.

_Of course it would._

They rode into the Collegium stable yard nearly half a candlemark later, and found it bustling with activity, not that this was anything unusual. But ...

"Sitwell?" Peggy said, surprised, as she dismounted.

Sitwell looked around and came to meet her. He was wearing travelling leathers, and from the level of activity in the yard Peggy could tell that he and several others were getting ready to ride out.

"Where are you heading off to?" she demanded. It wasn't entirely unheard of for him to go out on missions, but these days his role was usually based in Haven. His eyesight had been damaged in an incident when she was still in Greys; nothing major, but enough that he tended to be involved more behind the scenes. He had a particularly sure touch in supporting Heralds – and other operatives – who were involved in long-term, dangerous missions, which made him invaluable to Kolsen and the Lord Marshal.

"Training trip," he said cheerfully. "I'm taking three of the older trainees out and introducing them to Waystation etiquette. We'll be gone for a couple of weeks."

Since the nearest Waystation was easily a week away at Companion speeds that didn't come as a surprise, but that Sitwell should be the one leading this group did, and it must have shown in Peggy's face.

"You know how it is, I get itchy feet now and then," he said, and she nodded, understanding. "That's why I'm taking that ex-army captain, Rogers, with us," he added. "He's used to a different routine, and even taking on Melinda and Bobbi together wasn't helping. This might settle him down for a while."

"I'm sure Bobbi and Melinda will be grateful," Peggy replied mechanically. _Damnation!_ She added silently, and Rowenna offered wordless commiseration.

She met Steve as she was following Rowenna into the stables. He was wearing travelling Greys, clearly second-hand, although in good condition; it had probably been easier finding those to fit him, since most trainees didn't need travel leathers until they were in their final year and mostly full-grown.

"You're back!" he blurted out when he saw her, and almost at once his delighted smile slid into dismay.

"And you're heading out," Peggy agreed wryly. "I really hope this isn't an omen of things to come."

"We don't seem to be able to catch a break so far," Steve admitted, and he looked so genuinely saddened by this that Peggy didn't know whether to laugh or pat his arm comfortingly.

Probably better not to do either.

"Well, I'm not put off," she said firmly. "By hook or by crook, we'll have that dinner together, even if it means eating it in a cave somewhere while we're hiding from bears."  

Steve was giving her an understandably startled look. "I'd kinda like it to be somewhere more comfortable than that? Bears are ... not comfortable."

"Nonsense! Lovely creatures," Peggy said stoutly. "And I've been on the road all day, and you're about to set out, so I should ... probably shut up, actually, because I'm blithering."

There was that sweet smile again. "No don't stop, I like it. Since you're already tricked out for travelling, why don't you come with us? Could be fun."

She took this in the spirit intended, and chuckled. "Oh no, no thank you! You'll find that four people and their Companions in one Waystation will be _more_ than enough, especially in this weather!" It had started raining around mid-morning, and now in the early afternoon it seemed to be settled in for the day.

He heaved a deep sigh and made sad eyes at her. "If I can't tempt you, I can't. Guess I'll see you for dinner when we get back."

He probably could have tempted her, if she hadn't just come in from a mission, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Not yet, at any rate. So this time, she did pat his arm consolingly. "I'll tell the kitchens to keep your favourite meal warm." She took a step back, forcing herself to disengage; she was _not_ going to wave him off, that would be ridiculous. "What is your favourite?" she found herself asking, before she could stop herself.

And the sweet smile was back. "I'm not fussy; surprise me."

 

xXx

 

The caves were significantly off the beaten track, and they took some time (and very careful riding) to find. But the weather was fair for the moment so Peggy told herself to be grateful, even if a sharp cold snap was not ideal for this particular mission.

Bears and caves. It was so utterly ridiculous, or it would have been if it hadn't been for the circumstances. Frost lay over everything like powered sugar on a cake, and made the rocky ground underfoot treacherous even for a Companion. And Steve Rogers was missing in these hills, after a training mission had got completely out of hand.

 _Come on, Steve,_ she thought, deliberately broadcasting it wide. _You're supposed to be a MindSpeaker – give me some help here._ Under that thought was the near-crippling worry that he was too injured to respond.

 _I can hear Sam,_ Rowenna said suddenly. _He says Steve has had a bit of a bump on the head and he's told him not to try to MindSpeak until he can see a Healer. But other than that, he's fine. We'll need a Healer anyway, the boy they were looking for has a broken leg._

_Oh, thank all the gods that's all it is. Where are they?_

_A bit higher up, of course,_ Rowenna said. _Hold on tight – it looks like I'm going to have to do my world famous show-stopping impression of a mountain goat ..._

In the end Peggy insisted on dismounting and scrambling up the slippery, rocky incline to the well-hidden cave entrance, so that Rowenna didn't have to worry about the extra weight or tipping her off. When she eventually got there, she was rather impressed – it was big enough for more than one horse (or Companion) to get inside, but impossible to see until you were nearly on top of it.

Just inside the entrance was Sam, Steve's Companion, looking as relieved as a Companion could. Steve was further back inside the cave, in a spot where there was just enough light from the entrance to see that he was sitting popped up against the wall and looking rather sickly. Also looking _extremely_ sickly was a young boy, perhaps ten years old at most, dressed in homespun breeches and tunic and sturdy leather shoes. He was laid out on Steve's folded cloak, and one leg of his breeches had been torn up the side so that a crude splint could be applied to the broken limb.

Peggy heaved a sigh of relief. _This_ situation she could handle, now that she knew everyone was alive and accounted for.

Then a sudden frantic scrabbling noise further inside the cave had her drawing and aiming her crossbow into the darkness.

"Peggy – PEGGY! It's fine!" Steve said, and he winced as his voice echoed weirdly in the confines of the cave. "It's just the goats!"

"Goats?" Peggy took a couple of steps into the cave, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw a score or so of small, horned bodies with long silky hair huddling against the rear wall. She put up her bow, feeling jumpy and slightly foolish. "Oh, of course – the boy's the village's goat-herder."

"Right. And if we hadn't had those little guys in here with us last night, we'd have been in a fix," Steve commented. "Sam persuaded them to snug up around us to keep us warm."

"Well, that was quick thinking." The clattering of hooves outside announced Rowenna's arrival. "Right, we've brought some supplies with us – let's take a look at you both, then we'll decide how to get you out of here."

"Are Sitwell and the others all right?" Steve asked, as Peggy carefully checked the boy's leg and pronounced it stable enough for him to be moved.

"They're fine, and so are the rest of the villagers. One of the other trainees probably has a cold after the ducking into the river he took, but that's the worst of it."

"What about the bear?"

Peggy paused. "It's dead. I had to shoot it, or it could have killed someone else. Poor thing was probably sick anyway – it should have been hibernating long before now."

Steve let out a breath. "Not gonna lie – that's kind of a relief. I was really afraid it would find us here, and Sam's good but seeing off a rabid bear's a lot to ask of him."

Peggy retrieved her saddlebags from Rowenna, along with two skins of water, one of which she helped Sam to first. Then she checked Steve's head-wound, which was a distinct lump on the back of his crown, sticky with dried blood. He hissed when she touched it, but didn't complain as she cleaned it and pressed a cold, damp compress to it.

"You'll live, but I should think your headache will be unpleasant. Drink some water while I give the lad something for the pain he's in, and then I have a flask of soup. It's not much but it should keep you both going until I can get us all back to the village."

"You know, when you talked about us grabbing dinner together in a cave while we were hiding from bears, I didn't think you were serious," he commented, leaning gingerly back against the cave wall again.

 _Neither did I_ , Peggy thought ruefully. "You've found me out," she said aloud, as she carefully measured argonel syrup into a little cup and diluted it with water. "This was a cunning plan all along. Tell me, what do you think of my idea of a romantic dinner for two?"

"It's lacking something," Steve said dryly.

"Oh?"

"Furniture, mostly."

"You're _so_ demanding." Peggy raised the boy up a little and put the cup to his lips. "This should stop your leg hurting for a while," she told him. "Just long enough to get you home to your mum – she's really worried about you."

He drank the argonel down obediently, screwing his face up a little at the taste. "What about me goats, Lady Herald? I can't leave 'em here. Them's special."

"Ah." Peggy eyed the goats dubiously, but she could see his point. Before she'd left the village, she'd become well aware that most of the villagers were almost more concerned about their prized flock of special goats than they were about the fate of its young guardian, even if they hadn't actually _said_ as much. "Well, that'll be a challenge for me," she told him brightly.

 _Sam and I can manage them if necessary,_ Rowenna said.

 _Thank you. I didn't fancy wrangling a broken leg, a head-wound_ and _a flock of highly-strung animals._

 _I'm sure you'd manage,_ Rowenna said, amused. _They can't possibly be worse than that group of Hardornan envoys that time._

"It's really frustrating not being able to MindSpeak right now," Steve commented, as Peggy dug the big flask of soup out of her saddlebags.

"Rowenna was just saying that she and Sam can manage the goats if necessary," she replied. "She thinks it can't be worse than managing a group of diplomats."

Steve face lit up in a smile. "I wouldn't know much about that."

"I'm sure we can arrange something. And then you'll wish you never left the army." She poured out a cupful of rich meaty broth and handed it to him. "That should still be hot – the head-woman in the village loaned me this clever container to put the flask in, it's a double layer of leather with wood shavings between the two. Sip that slowly."

"Can't afford to be too slow," Steve said. "If we don't get moving soon, we'll be pushed to get under cover again before it gets dark."

"The worst part will be getting down from this cliff." Peggy helped the boy to his share of the soup. "Slowly now ... how's that leg feeling?"

"Almost doesn't hurt at all, Lady," he said, and the smile he gave her told her that he was definitely feeling no pain. The only problem with that was the next stage would probably be falling asleep, and she wanted to avoid that happening before they'd got him down to level ground. Ideally, he needed to be able to hop down with assistance from her and Steve.

"All right then – think you can manage this by yourself if I sit you up? I need to get packed up again, and saddle Sam there."

"I can do that," Steve protested.

"No, stay where you are and finish that soup." Peggy gave him a warning look. "You're going to need all your strength when we leave here."

He looked like he was going to object, but then Sam stamped a hoof and Steve subsided. "Oh, all right."

Saddling Sam and packing up didn't take long, but it was long enough for the young goat-herder to drop into a light doze that he was grumpy to be roused from. With Steve's help, and a lot of encouragement from both of them, Peggy got the boy up onto his one good foot.

"All right, Rowenna's going to go first, and Steve and I will help you down the rocks next," Peggy told the boy, in a tone that brooked no arguments. "Then Sam will send your flock down and follow. Slowly and carefully's the ticket – don't try to take more than one step at a time."

When she came to report on this incident to Herald Kolsen later, Peggy would break into a cold sweat at the memory of the three of them hopping one step at a time down the icy rocks to the ground below. The cliffs and cave entrance were positioned at the top of an incline that was uncomfortably steep even for someone with no injuries, and she wasn't entirely sure how two Companions – who were, after all, entirely horse-shaped and horse-sized – managed it at all. But somehow they all made it down to the ground with only a couple of minor slips to enliven the experience.

The goats, of course, had no problem with it at all, skipping down the rocks as though it had all been laid out for their entertainment.

Once they were at the bottom, Steve and Peggy between them bundled the boy into Rowenna's saddle, and Peggy mounted up behind him.

"You can nod off now if you want to," she told him, as Steve dragged himself onto Sam's back rather than mounted up, and the boy, looking very wan, nodded. "All right then, lean back against me; I won't let you fall."

"Let's get out of here," Steve said wearily, and with the goats milling around them anxiously, they set off.

 

xXx

 

"Mind if I join you?"

Steve looked up into Peggy's smile; she was standing beside his little table with a plate in one hand and a horn mug in the other. She'd taken the opportunity to change her uniform and tidy up, which made him grateful that he'd taken the head-woman up on the offer of a bucket of hot water once the village herb-healer had finished with him.

"Please do."

"I'm rather impressed that a village of this size has an ordinary," she commented, as she put the plate and mug on the table and pulled up a stool. She cast her eyes around the tightly-packed little tavern for a moment. "Be it never so small and humble. And the food looks good."

"Sitwell says the beer's drinkable," Steve said, watching her dig into her plate of bean stew with a hearty appetite. "You must see a lot of places like this when you're travelling around."

"You have no idea." For a minute or two, Peggy was occupied with her meal; then she realised that Steve didn't have a plate in front of him. "Not eating?"

He smiled ruefully. "The herb-healer told me to stick to dry bread and clear broth until the morning. I didn't fancy the broth, so I had a crust and the dame of the house made me a tisane – " He held up his mug.

She groaned. "Well, there goes any idea I had of us sharing supper this evening!"

Steve chuckled. "Tell you what, let's share breakfast instead." Then he realised what he'd said, and his face could have been used to smelt metal. "Wait – that came out wrong – "

Sam was laughing fit to bust. _Subtle, soldier!_

_Shut up, you!_

Peggy kept an admirably straight face, but the corner of her mouth was twitching as she spooned up the last of the beans from her dish. Her spoon was halfway to her mouth when she paused, and said in an unexpectedly throaty purr, "I wouldn't want to aggravate your head injury, Captain."

Steve's jolt of surprise nearly sent his mug flying.

 _Oh man ...!_ Sam wheezed.

_Sam!_

_Seriously, keep it up - this is priceless._

To Steve's dismay, his vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to barely verbal levels in the space of two minutes. "I – that is – I didn't – "

"It's fine." Peggy finished her stew, and took a long swallow from her mug, her eyes dancing with mischief as she watched him over the rim. When she put it down again, she leaned across the table and said confidentially, "There's not enough privacy around here anyway. I have to share a bunk with Trainee Velora tonight."

Steve decided that he needed to find the village well and drown himself in it. "I really didn't mean ..." he stammered helplessly, and then he found that he didn't have it in him to verbalise what he hadn't actually meant.

Peggy gathered up her plate, spoon and mug and got up to leave. As she passed him, she patted his shoulder. "Another time, then."

Another time for what? he wanted to ask. Dinner, or ... breakfast? Fortunately, she was already gone and the question was academic, because he wasn't sure he could actually survive the answer.

Then he realised that an old man at the next table was grinning at him toothlessly, and he'd apparently overheard everything because he was making unmistakably crude and encouraging gestures.

Steve groaned and covered his face with one hand.

 _Nicely handled, big guy!_ Sam chortled.

 

xXx

 

"Sitwell's of the opinion that you've traumatised Trainee Rogers," Kolsen murmured, as the two of them took seats in the Lord Marshal's office for their regular monthly meeting.

This rather confirmed Peggy's suspicion that Steve had been avoiding her ever since he'd returned from the unexpectedly action-packed training trip. Since she'd formed the opinion that he was made of sterner stuff, this was disheartening, but she wasn't about to admit as much to Kolsen. He might be inspired to take direct action which, being Kolsen, was liable to be ruthlessly efficient and leave everyone else feeling foolish when it was over. Peggy preferred to manage the situation with Steve herself.

Exactly how she was going to do so was escaping her at the moment.

This was one of the problems of being a Herald. Non-Heralds tended to assume (not entirely without justification) that Heralds were thrill-seeking hedonists with louche personal lives. The truth was that while not all Heralds were pleasure-seekers, most lived everyday lives of such non-stop workaholism that any tiny sliver of time to themselves was exploited to the maximum. Circuit-riding required the stamina of an ox; it was a year and a half minimum of solid travel in every possible weather and season the kingdom could throw at you, interspersed with every conceivable problem the populace could dream up to torment you with. The days when you could canter along decent roads in balmy weather, surrounded by fields of contented livestock and ripening wheat, on your way to officiate at a wedding in a remote but bucolic village, were almost non-existent. You were far more likely to find yourself slogging through knee-deep mud, in the dark and the driving rain, to single-handedly provide relief to a village beset by plague and bandits.

And when your eighteen-month stint was done, you came back to Haven and were promptly assigned to a 'rest period' position, which could be anything from teaching trainees to officiating in the city courts to riding messenger duty.

There were plenty of Heralds who swore that if only they were given the choice, they would prefer to go straight out on another circuit.

What you didn't get was much in the way of free time, and most Heralds were the type of person who would develop a nervous tic if they had too much time on their hands anyway. But it was very hard on personal relationships, to the point where it could be easier not to bother trying. You nurtured family ties as best you could. You formed good, solid friendships with other Heralds and people in similar professions who might be expected to understand the rigours of your lifestyle (Healers, Bards, Guards, even priests). You accepted no-strings sex from those who could be relied upon to enjoy the moment without expecting more of you than you could honestly give.

Love was ... difficult.

And yet, being human, you still wanted that intimate, long-term relationship, impractical and potentially heartbreaking as it would be. Peggy was self-aware enough to know that this very situation was probably why she had originally run from Steve Rogers when the opportunity offered itself. As Kolsen had sapiently pointed out when Steve was first Chosen, only a carven saint could resist him on a physical level ... but a roll in the hay had never really been the deal on offer. He was not that kind of man, and she was not the woman to take that kind of advantage. He wanted more and so did she, and therein lay the problem.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be after all, and the continual thwarting of their attempts to make it happen was a sign from some higher power that they should give up being anything more than friendly acquaintances. Peggy wasn't convinced of that, though. She tended to believe that higher powers had better things to do with their time than meddle with the hearts (and bodies) of mortals.

"If he's that easily traumatised," she said, "then there's no hope for him."

And any further discussion of the topic had to be set aside as the Lord Marshal swept into the room in a furious swirl of his heavy black robe of office.

 

xXx

 

A few evenings later Peggy was sitting in one of the private rooms of a congenial little alehouse some way from the Palace, munching on small snack foods and sipping a good stout, while playing a game of Four Walls with Melinda, Natasha and Bobbi. This was a semi-regular event, and if only two of them could make it they played Hinds And Hounds instead; on the previous occasion Natasha had been off on the Lord Marshal's business, and Herald Maria had taken her place.

The object was primarily to get away from the Collegium and enjoy gossipy female company, something which Peggy often felt the lack of. Being based in Haven had its advantages, but all the female Heralds she'd gone through training with were out on circuit, and she struggled to form friendships with women of her own age-group outside of the Circle.

Tonight, despite being the one to suggest the outing, she was pensive and in low spirits. Her original plan had been to track down Steve Rogers and make a really determined attempt at having that dinner together. She'd been thwarted by an inability to locate him, and knowing only too well how much gossip was already circulating about the pair of them, she hadn't wanted to risk asking around for him. It was immensely frustrating.

Her distraction did not go unnoticed.

"You want to tell us what's biting you?" Bobbi asked, as she shuffled the tiles and starting laying them out.

"Ugh," was all Peggy could find to say. She propped her chin on her hand and plucked tiles from the central pile in a very desultory manner.

Melinda cast Peggy the barest sideways glance, then conveyed a significant look to the other two with one fractionally-raised eyebrow. "What happened to you and Captain Muscles?" she asked casually, sorting her chosen tiles with forensic neatness.

"Nothing whatsoever," Peggy replied. To her disgust, she realised too late that her own selection of tiles was eighty percent blank bricks, with no foundation stones, only a single buttress, and _two_ garde-robe vents. The world's wobbliest latrine was well on its way to being constructed if she couldn't trade for something better.

"Are you playing hard to get?" Natasha wanted to know. She was selecting each tile individually and with great deliberation, inspecting it and then selecting the next from a different part of the pile.

"That would suggest that I have a strategy of some kind." Peggy paused. "Actually, I do have a strategy, it's just not working. Can I trade anyone a garde-robe vent in exchange for a foundation stone?"

"That's not exactly an equal trade," Bobbi pointed out, amused.

"I'll throw in a blank brick."

"Against the rules, Herald. What's your strategy?"

"My strategy is to win this game by constructing a latrine built on non-existent foundations," Peggy said gloomily. "A well-vented latrine."

"Every army's got to have them," Melinda consoled her. He lips were twitching. "Be better if it didn't collapse though. That kind of thing upsets the troops."

"Here, have an Event tile." Bobbi offered her the box.

Peggy pulled one out and looked at it. "Disease. Wonderful. Give me a Time tile, I'd better know the worst." Natasha flipped her a random tile from the other box, and Peggy plucked it out of the air and turned it over. "Tomorrow! Oh well, better get building, I suppose. My forces are due an imminent attack of dysentery, by the looks of it."

"I _meant_ ," Bobbi said, choosing an Event tile for herself, "what's your strategy with Rogers?"

"My strategy was to have dinner and civilised conversation with him, something which he showed every sign of being on board with. You know, I _hate_ to take a Sacrifice this early in the game, but I really need to exchange one of these garde-robe vents for something better."

"Your loss," Melinda said, so Peggy put one of the garde-robe vent tiles back in the pile, and took a new one. The others all took an extra tile.

Peggy looked at her new tile. It was a murder-hole. "Well, _that's_ not helpful at all."

"So what went wrong?" Natasha asked. She was busily arranging her tiles to her liking, with only one pushed to one side for potential trade or sacrifice in the next round. "I claim an Event."

"What went wrong is I made the mistake of showing him that I was on board with dragging him into the nearest haystack and having my wicked way with him." Peggy frowned. "I think that's what went wrong anyway."

"I'll have an Event and a Time," Melinda said. "Rogers doesn't strike me as the earthy type. Doesn't even swear, which is unusual for someone out of the Guard."

"He tried a pretty unorthodox throw on me yesterday," Bobbi said. "Didn't quite work – and he accidentally grabbed my breast as he went down." Her eyebrows twitched expressively. "He blushes like a novice priestess. Sounds weird, I know, but maybe he's a virgin?"

"You'll need a very different strategy if he's a virgin," Melinda advised Peggy. "Tactful, but firmer. He's not the type to try and jump in with both feet without some encouragement."

Natasha was frowning. "More likely he's religious in some way," she said. She sounded disapproving. "Does anyone have something like an arrow-loop that you're willing to trade?"

"Murder-hole?" Peggy offered.

"I'll take it."

"Not so fast – what do you have in exchange?"

"A corner stone."

"Deal." They swapped tiles. "I don't read him as a virgin," Peggy said slowly. "That would put a different perspective on things."

"They're easier to control if you can catch them early," Natasha commented.

Bobbi made a face. "Sounds pretty creepy when you put it like that."

Natasha gave her a blank look. "I state a fact from my experience. Better to control a man than be controlled, and they are more easily controlled by sex if you are the one to initiate them."

It was at moments like this that Peggy was reminded that her friends weren't Heralds; Melinda was smiling to herself at Natasha's remark, and Bobbi made a gesture that conceded the point even if she wasn't entirely in agreement with it. That Natasha could make such a statement so matter-of-factly came as no surprise at all, given her history. But the idea of controlling a man through his sexual naivety left a bad taste in Peggy's mouth, the more so that the man in question was someone as genuinely decent as Steve Rogers.

 _They're not bad people,_ Rowenna said unexpectedly.

 _No, they're not. They're just very different to Heralds, and the kingdom needs all kinds._ "Be that as it may," Peggy said aloud, "I've been trying to make an opportunity just to say hello to him ever since we got back from that training-mission-gone-wrong, and I've barely seen him in the distance even once. I know we're both busy, but I'm starting to think he's avoiding me."

"Probably not," Melinda said calmly. "A squad from his old company got transferred back to Haven while you were both gone. He's probably catching up with them."

Peggy blinked at her. "How do you know that? Kolsen hasn't said a word – "

"No reason why he should know. _I_ only know because I happened to be at the Guard House when one of them came to the Collegium asking for Rogers."

"Oh." Well, that was more hopeful. "Still ... I hope he's not holding out for marriage or something like that. It's not really practical for Heralds on active service."

"Is that something you'd want?" Bobbi asked curiously. "If it was possible?"

"N-no," Peggy said, conscious that even Rowenna was interested in her answer. "That's not for me. I think I've seen most variations of marriage at this point – commoners, high-borns, merchants, villagers, even the half-pirate fisher clans on Lake Evendim, and those ghastly multiple marriages the Holderkin have. I'm sure it's _possible_ to have an equal partnership in marriage, but I've yet to see a working example, and I won't settle for anything less. Besides - I'm not that desperate for a new dress and a party!"

She tapped a tile on the table firmly. "Now who's up for round two?"

 

xXx

 

Rowenna had opted to stay in the Companions' Field with some of her cronies that evening, so Peggy walked back to the Collegium with Natasha. Bobbi was headed off to another appointment, probably with the lover she spent as much time fighting with as bedding, and Melinda was spending the night with family, so it was just the two of them. It had started raining again at some point – it had been raining on and off for weeks now – not heavily, but enough that they both pulled their cloaks a little tighter around their necks.

"He's not a virgin," Natasha said abruptly, after walking in silence for ten minutes

"I beg your pardon?" Peggy said, startled.

"Steve Rogers - he's not a virgin. I know Kolsen has been concerned about you and him, so I made it my business to find out everything about him that there is to know."

Peggy didn't know what to say to this. It was so very _Natasha_ though, in its execution if not entirely in its reasoning. Peggy didn't pretend to know everything about the other woman, but she did know that she'd been a spy and an assassin in her previous life, and that her training had been such that her understanding of other people was both razor-sharp in its acuity and utterly cynical. Natasha did not believe in higher morality. She had a moral code that was entirely of her own devising, that was centred around herself and a very small number of people she had chosen, after careful consideration, to put her trust in.

"He's not particularly experienced, though," Natasha continued after a moment or two. "His friends say he believes that women should be treated with respect, and that a man should let a woman set the pace of things between them." She sounded as though she didn't entirely believe this, which was also very Natasha. "So you'll probably have to take him in hand. They say he's not pushy, to the point of being retiring, which is why he doesn't have much experience with women."

"Oh ... well, that's ..." Peggy had no idea where she was going with that sentence, so she let it drop. "What – what else did you find out about him?"

"He was born and brought up near Exiles Gate." Peggy could have guessed that from his accent. "His father was a Pikeman who got killed during a border skirmish when Steve was a toddler, and his mother was a laundress. She died from the spotted lung-rot when he was still young. He was sickly and spent the rest of his childhood in a temple orphanage, where he met his closest friend, a man named Barnes." Peggy remembered him, he was a sergeant in the same company as Steve. "When the two of them were old enough the priests apprenticed them to the Exiles Gate Watch House, as runners, and when they were eighteen they enlisted in the Guard together, but Rogers had paid more attention to his education so he was pushed into officer training.

"He was promoted quickly. His commanders all commend him for his leadership skills, his tactical abilities, and his commitment to duty. He's well-liked by the men under him and he makes a very good impression, although at least one colonel has had some comments to make on his unorthodox methods and creative interpretation of orders." Natasha clearly didn't think this was a downside; and neither did Peggy, for that matter. "Other than that, he likes to draw when he gets the opportunity, and he's said to be a hopeless dancer, which all his friends seem to find funny. I don't believe that though, he's too good with a sword not to be able to dance well."

And if Natasha said that, then Peggy believed her. All Heralds learned to dance, not least because it was a useful social skill in a wide range of situations, but also because it helped them learn the rhythm and balance that were a vital part of sword-fighting.

Personally, she liked dancing. Perhaps that was an alternative way to get closer to him? Not the formal, Court dancing which was solely designed to show off your new clothes and act as a subtle form of one-upmanship with your peers, while keeping a decorous distance between the sexes. That was guaranteed to be counterproductive. But something less formal ... surely that was doable.

Of course, for this to be a success Peggy would have to actually find Steve and talk to him – and that was rapidly becoming the most complicated part of the business.

 

xXx

 

"You know it's just the uniform, right?"

"Hm?" Steve looked up from his hand to see Bucky slouching a little, one arm draped over the back of his chair and the other hand idly tapping the edge of his cards on the table between them. "Uniform – what?"

"Your Herald-fancy. It's the uniform – everyone loves a well-fitting set of Whites." Bucky pursed his lips. "Gods know why – I mean, yeah, they look great, but _why_ do they look great? Half the funerals we used to watch when we were kids had all the mourners wearing white, and did it suit any of 'em? No sir, it did not. Not a flattering colour."

"Not a colour at all," Steve agreed mildly, "technically."

"So it's gotta be the tailoring." Bucky smirked a little, and gestured suggestively down the length of his body with his cards. He winked. "Not gonna complain about that."

"Good, because I'm going to be wearing it too sooner or later," Steve reminded him.

"Yeah. Not thinking too hard about that."

Steve blinked. "Buck?"

Bucky shrugged irritably, pulled himself upright in his chair and started sorting through his cards restlessly. "Think they'll assign you back to us?" he asked after a significant pause.

"No idea." Steve hadn't really been thinking about what would happen when he got his Whites – it had to be a fair way off, after all. No one got promoted into Whites less than half a year after being Chosen.

 _Vanyel did_ , Sam put in, _but he was a special case._

 _So he was,_ Steve agreed amiably.

_And the rules were different then._

"I mean, Heralds don't _just_ ride circuits, right? Your little Herald-fancy - "

"She has a name," Steve told him, an edge in his voice.

Bucky only grinned slyly at this, as though he'd got the reaction he was looking for. "She don't ride regular circuits. She's a – what d'you call it? A Special Messenger. She been delivering any _special messages_ to you?"

Something in Bucky's tone made Steve uneasy, and he tried to deflect it. "Nope. She's been rescuing me from rabid bears."

Bucky stared at him. "When you say it like that, I start thinking it's not a joke."

Steve shrugged, smiling. "It's not."

"Steve ... _Steve!_ _You_ couldn't rescue yourself? That's just embarrassing."

He nodded, making a sad face. "I know – all I had to do was find one small goat-herder and his flock, and what did I do? Slipped on some icy rocks and gave myself a concussion. Had to be rescued by - " _By someone who consistently makes me act like I have two left feet and a boot-jack wedged in my mouth._ "By someone I was really hoping to impress with my goat-wrangling skills," he finished awkwardly.

Bucky's expression was a mixture of amusement, disbelief and a certain amount of unwilling sympathy. "Well, that blows."

"And then I didn't even get to have dinner with her at the inn afterwards." Steve shuffled his cards around unnecessarily. "Which is turning into a thing with us, to be honest."

"Maybe she's dropping you a hint, buddy."

Steve didn't think so. "For that to be true, she'd have to have been stringing me along since I got Chosen."

"So?"

"So she's a Herald, Bucky. She wouldn't."

Bucky huffed a humourless laugh. "That's a lot of faith to put in a White shirt."

Steve looked at him. "You think _I_ could do that to someone?"

"No, but I know you," Bucky said.

"Well ... trust me on this one. No one gets Chosen who can be a complete ass."

There was a long, not entirely comfortable silence between them. Then Bucky put his cards down on the table with a sigh, and rubbed his eyes.

"Tell me something," he said, "what are you waiting for?"

Steve blinked at him. "Waiting for?"

"Yeah, waiting for! Why all this shit about getting dinner together? She's interested in you, right? I mean, she _seemed_ pretty damn interested in you back at that Guard Post. Hell, we were all taking bets on how fast she was going to climb all over you when we were out of the way for the night. No one was more surprised than me when she just upped and disappeared without a word during drill that afternoon. So if you're so sure she's interested in you now, why are you dancing around each other?"

"Buck," Steve began uncomfortably, "I don't – "

"Right, right, you believe in treating women like they're vestal virgins, or whatever the hell those priestesses are called who wear the ugly headdresses and take a vow of chastity. Man, those monks back at the orphanage really did a number on you."

Steve's jaw tightened. "They were good people."

Bucky waved this off, exasperated. "Sure they were – for a bunch of self-castrating eunuchs!"

"Oh, they were _not_ eunuchs – "

"You think some of 'em were sopranos by accident?"

 _I hate to say it,_ Sam put in, _but he's partly right. The Brothers of Purity only let monks into the higher ranks after they go through a ritual where they cut their own balls off. The rite's supposed to put them into a state of ecstasy where they don't feel the pain._

 _Seriously?_ Steve was stunned.

_Afraid so._

"Why did I never know that?" Steve demanded out loud.

Bucky snorted. "Because you were too busy being a good boy and acing all your lessons, probably. That's not my point! My _point_ is you need to forget all that shit and seize the girl – or let her seize you. Pretty sure that's more her style anyway."

"I don't see why," Steve said, stubbornly resisting the urge to blush. "I don't see what's so wrong in taking things slow and doing it right."

Bucky sighed. "There's _nothing_ wrong with that, Steve - _if_ you have all the time in the world to do it."

"Thanks," Steve said dryly. "That fills me with confidence for my future."

"Oh, for – that's not what I meant, dammit! Think for a minute. You're already struggling to make time with her. You think that's going to get easier when you're out riding 'round the countryside for, what, a year at a time? When she's off somewhere else, doing her Special Messenger thing?" Steve looked away. Bucky rolled his eyes. "Tell me something," he said in a conversational tone. "What were you planning on doing that evening when you were supposed to have dinner with her the first time? Knowing that when she left, you might never see her again? Were you gonna say no if she offered?"

"I don't know."

"Liar."

"Buck – "

"All I'm saying is ... time's short, and so's life. If you have a chance at something great, even if it's just for one night, then you'd be crazy not to take it." Bucky paused, then added in his more usual tone, "Of course, I've always known you're crazy anyway. But you're not stupid-crazy, right? Because letting that dame slip through your fingers would be stupid-crazy in my book."

Steve eyed him. "Really?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Really!"

"'Cause I got the impression you weren't too taken with her."

"Yeah, well .. she's not exactly my type." Bucky picked up his cards again, and sorted through them. "Although if it's _me_ she offers the single night of wonderful to, you're on your own, buddy. I'm not stupid-crazy."

"Sure." Steve gave him an easy smile. "You planning to play that hand, or just play _with_ it?"

"Pushy pushy ..."

 _I really don't think she's going to be offering him anything, you know,_ Sam remarked.

_Never thought she would. Why, did you think I was worried?_

_Are you?_

Steve thought about it for a moment. _No,_ he said honestly. _He laid on the charm with a shovel when we first met her, and she never even looked at him._

_Right. And he knows that too._

 

xXx

 

"Should I be concerned that we've suddenly had an influx of older people being Chosen?" Peggy asked, some days later. Blips in the pattern of Choosing were historically an indicator of trouble to come, and the latest recruit - a military priest from Jkatha, of all things, who was a specialist in exorcism – was definitely outside of the usual run of recruits, and not just because of his age.

Kolsen made a non-committal _hm_ sound. "Difficult to say, although thanks to that mess on the Karsite border and multiple bandit incursions north of Sorrows, we've been left with some sizeable holes in our forces recently. There's a three year gap between the last set of internees to go out on circuit and the oldest class of trainees right now. So sometimes I think the Companions do try to balance things out, with some more experienced candidates who don't need the same level of regular education. Admittedly this fellow is a little more unusual than most, but I feel confident he'll settle in well. Like Rogers, he's used to military discipline, which is always helpful. I'm sparing you the most dramatic detail he presented us with, though. I need you to work with Maria on the flood relief effort, because we're expecting serious distress calls from the lower city imminently."

"I expect the full story as soon as you can tell me," Peggy said, accepting this with equanimity. The breadth of Kolsen's workload inevitably meant that there were things which got passed off to other colleagues to work on with him, and her particular speciality usually meant that she got involved in organisational matters relating to the Guard, rather than city issues. There was a degree of crossover and sharing, however, which kept things interesting.

"Oh, if this goes the way he seems to think it might, I'll be dining out on the story for years to come," Kolsen said, and he sounded genuinely amused.

"Excellent! I look forward to hearing it." Peggy shuffled her papers into a rough pile. "I'll start putting together a list of Heralds currently in Haven who can help with the relief effort. What about the trainees? This could be good experience for the older ones."

"Agreed. At the very least, they can help with evacuation and sandbagging. In fact, you can take Rogers and this new fellow - Castiel - with you too. Good insight into our work for them, and they have the prior experience and common sense to balance out the younger ones."

"Will do. Just one question - what's Castiel's Valdemaran like?"

"Excellent - very fluent. He tells me he speaks Rethwellan and the trader tongue some of the merchant caravans use, as well." Kolsen rubbed his brow absently. "There must be some way we can make use of that, but I haven't had a chance to think it over yet."

"Off-hand, I can't think of anyone in the Collegia who speaks Jkathan _or_ the trader tongue, so perhaps he'd be willing to teach. But we can think about that later, he's not going anywhere for the time being," Peggy said. "I'll be with Maria if you need me."

"Thank you. Oh, and Peggy?"

She looked back, surprised. "Yes?"

Kolsen was looking vaguely at the opposite wall, his fingers tapping a silent pattern on the stack of files on the corner of his desk. "How are things with you and Rogers?" he asked cautiously. "Is everything ... all right?"

He was far from the first person to ask her this question over the past few weeks, so Peggy thought her exasperation was pardonable. There were two ways she could answer him; she could get defensive or treat it as a joke. And since she was very fond of Kolsen, she chose the latter.

She shook her head in mock-sadness. "I'm sorry, but you can't have him, Phil. I haven't finished with him yet."

The small smile he gave her told her he wasn't fooled. "Have you even started with him?"

She let out a tiny huff of annoyance. "I'm working on it. Really."

"Anything I can do to help?"

 _Like what?_ she wondered. "Tell everyone to stop placing bets," she suggested. "They're only going to be disappointed. I can't imagine why people are so interested in us anyway."

"I can tell them, but I doubt it will have any effect," he said. His smile was kindly. "It's an entirely benevolent interest, if that helps."

It didn't, but she hadn't been serious anyway. Peggy knew better than to try to stop the gossip mill once it had started grinding.

The problem, of course, was always time: she and Steve didn't have enough of it between the two of them. The lives of trainees and the Heralds already in Whites never synchronised easily unless the Herald in question was teaching – and Peggy thanked her stars that she wasn't on a teaching rotation, because there was an unwritten but unbreakable rule about relationships between the teachers and trainees. But it was frustrating to always arrive at the salle just as Steve was leaving, or find that she'd missed yet another meal in the dining hall because a meeting had overrun. It surely shouldn't be this difficult to find an hour or two to spend together, and it was beginning to feel a bit like a cosmic conspiracy.

"Stop whining, Carter," she muttered under her breath, as she started pulling personnel files in Maria's office and stacking them up on the broad meeting table.

Honestly, it was a relief to put aside her own problems for the moment and concentrate on the flood relief plans instead.

 

xXx

 

It was typical of their luck that the first opportunity Peggy and Steve had to talk properly in weeks was in the temporary headquarters set up for the flood relief. This was a guildhall building in the lower city, set up by the District Command of the Watch, and swarming with Watch officers and constables, Guardsmen, and other local officials.

By the time the two of them were able to snatch a moment in a (relatively) quiet corner, they had each done a twelve hour overnight shift, and were soaked to the bone and chilled, the temperature having decided, in typical springtime fashion, to drop unexpectedly. It had been a very long night, what with one thing and another.

"Bet you're glad we made you bring a spare uniform with you," Peggy commented. She accepted the mug of hot tea he offered her with desperate gratitude, and wrapped her icy hands around it.

"I don't know, I feel kinda bad about it," he replied. "None of the guys from the Watch have a change of clothes. Here – I got you a sausage roll too."

"They're all being dismissed shortly, the next contingent of the Guard is taking over." Peggy considered the sausage roll. "You know, I really want this to count as dinner – or breakfast – but ..."

Steve laughed softly. "Is that our problem? We're too choosy about what counts as dinner together?"

"No, I think our problem is the Imp of the Perverse getting into our schedules," she grumbled.

"I have a suggestion to make that I really hate," Steve offered.

The corner of Peggy's mouth twitched with irresistible amusement. "Well, with a lead-in like that, how could I possibly resist?"

His answering smile was like a ray of sunlight, but the words that followed were depressing. "Sitwell tells me I'm going to be on intensive training until Spring Festival at least. I did think maybe they'd slow things down a little to let Castiel catch up with me, but he's got some kind of issue going on that his mentor wants to sort out before he gets properly stuck in, so I guess I'm pressing ahead on my own."

"I'm told he arrived with a problem," Peggy said, "but I haven't had time to find out what it is yet. What do you think of him?"

"He's an interesting guy," Steve said judiciously. "Never met an exorcist before. He's kinda quiet, but I guess that's something he learned in his monastery. Got a lot of skills, though – he says he was trained with a sword as soon as he could walk, but his Order are mounted and focus a lot on archery and the lance."

That explained a few things. "His training will be different to yours," she said. "You need more equitation work, but I've seen his file and he's nobly born, so as well as the sword skills I'll bet he was thrown into the saddle early. _His_ training will need to focus heavily on our history, society and legal system instead, as he's an outkingdomer."

"I guess so. But that means I'm on my own for now." Steve made a wry face. "And that's what I was thinking about. If I'm going to be running from dawn 'til dusk until the Equinox, then maybe we should hold off trying to make plans."

Oh. While Peggy couldn't fault the logic of it, that sounded awfully like a gentle let-down. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense," she agreed, trying to sound calm and unconcerned.

"But we could make plans for Spring Festival," he continued, more tentatively. "The trainees all get the day itself and the day after as holiday. So do you think ..."

"It's rather expected that I'll visit my family for the Festival," Peggy said.

"Oh. Right."

"But they're only in the Pottery District, and by late afternoon I'll probably be desperate to escape, so – "

"Wait, really? The Pottery District?" Steve gave her a wide-eyed look. "You won't be going out of town?"

"No, why would I?"

"I thought – well – you seemed like ..." He made a vague gesture at her. "You're not high-born then?"

Peggy couldn't stop the unladylike little snort escaping her. "My family name is Carter for a reason!"

He looked genuinely astonished. "But you sound just like the Court ladies!"

"My hard work has clearly paid off, so thank you for that." She smiled at him over the rim of her mug. "I was Chosen quite early – ten years old – so I had plenty of time to smooth over my rough edges. Of which I had a lot, I'll freely admit."

"I don't believe that for a minute," he said stoutly.

"Flatterer!" She smiled. "You grew up in the lower city too, didn't you?"

"Down by Exiles Gate," he nodded.

Peggy felt oddly pleased that he showed no sign of shame or embarrassment at admitting this – and, indeed, there _wasn't_ any shame in coming from what was generally acknowledged to be Haven's roughest district. But she knew there were plenty of people who viewed anyone from the lower city with barely veiled contempt, and plenty more who would be hard to convince that any denizen of Exiles Gate wasn't a born criminal.

"Then you'll know what my accent used to be like," she said.

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Not a bit. But I have to deal with people from all walks of life, Steve, and a great many of them judge me by tiny details like the way I speak. A lower city accent would be cause for some of them to judge me out of hand as unworthy of their attention, and make it nearly impossible to do my job." She shrugged slightly. "Ironically, you would likely get a free pass from them, as you're a man and you achieved the rank of captain on your own merits. As a woman I need different tools, and my voice and manners are just that – tools."

Steve didn't look very happy about this. "So much for the White uniform, huh?"

Peggy sighed. "Regrettably, you'll find out that the White uniform is like a red rag to a bull for some people, and a surprising number of them have both money and power."

Steve grimaced, but before he could comment on this Herald Maria's voice was raised over the general din, announcing that the Herald contingent was dismissed back to the Collegium, with thanks from the various commanders for their efforts. She beckoned to Peggy, however, who hastily stuffed the last of her sausage roll into her mouth before obeying the summons.

Steve caught her arm just before she disappeared into the crowd. "Hey Peggy – Peggy!" When he had her attention, he said, "Spring Festival then – yes?"

"Definitely," she mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, making him grin. She swallowed the rest of it hastily. "Sorry – yes, definitely. As I said, I can probably escape my family by mid-afternoon."

"Then meet me by the fountain outside The Candlemaker's Arms – do you know it?"

She gave him a look. "I shall have to revoke your licence to call yourself a lower city boy," she told him severely. " _Surely_ you mean The Old Rush-Dipper?"

"Surely _you_ mean the Snuff-It-And-Run?" he retorted, and she chuckled.

"We'll find out, won't we?"

 

xXx

 

"You could at least have worn a frock on this of all days," Peggy's mother said with a sigh.

"I brought a dress with me," Peggy retorted, "but I don't see the point of changing into it just to do _this_."

"This" being the washing of a vast mound of cooking pots, dishes and utensils. Her brothers' wives had decided that Spring Festival was _their_ holiday too (quite right) and abandoned the lot to Peggy and her mother, while they went to put their feet up for once and split a couple of bottles of wine between the three of them.

Peggy actually didn't mind, as it saved her trying to make conversation with them for more than five minutes together. She didn't dislike her sisters-in-law, but she had absolutely nothing in common with them. (Wasn't it odd that she, who could make small talk for candlemarks to grumpy merchants and wary diplomats, always had so much trouble doing the same with family?) And she knew her mother had chosen, for whatever reason, to take dish-washing duty with her daughter; she ruled the household with a very firm hand and could have ordered all three of her daughters-by-marriage back into the scullery with ease – and her sons too – had she wanted to.

"Every time I see you, you're dressed like a man," her mother said, but she sounded resigned.

Peggy chuckled. "That's hardly anything new, Mum!" She'd spent much of her childhood wearing her brothers' cast-offs, and getting her into a frock for special occasions had involved what seemed like every available pair of hands in the household. As she'd grown older she'd come to appreciate pretty clothes for special occasions, but shirts and breeches were so much easier and more practical the rest of the time.

She said as much, and her mother nodded. "Still – just once in a while it'd be nice to see you wearing some of this finery you talk about."

"One day you're going to come to the Collegium and see the gown I wore to the Rethwellan Ambassador's reception. And you can see my dress in a while," Peggy promised, scrubbing diligently at a crusted baking dish. "I'm meeting a friend in the Square for the public dances."

"What manner of friend?"

"A fellow Herald." She checked herself and amended that. "He's a trainee, but he was Chosen late. He was born in the city too, though." She left out the part about Steve being from Exiles Gate, knowing that her mother would be uneasy about that.

"A good man, is he?" her mother asked.

"He's a Herald," Peggy replied automatically, "but yes, I believe he's a good man. He was a captain in the Guard before he was Chosen, promoted quite young, and I haven't met anyone with a bad word to say about him."

She could see that her mother was impressed by this, and felt some of the tightness in her shoulders dissolving. It wasn't of the first importance that her family should like Steve, but it was better that there at least be no unpleasantness should he meet them at some point.

She dunked the baking dish into the half-barrel of rinsing water and turned to hand it over for drying, but her mother was putting a pot of water over the kitchen fire to heat.

"You'll need wash water if you're planning to go out," her mother said, returning and taking the dish from her. "No sense in putting a clean frock on over an unwashed body."

"I did bathe first thing!" Peggy said, amused. "But it'd be good to freshen up. Thank you."

Her mother liked her dress when she saw it, although she pointed out that wine-red was not only expensive but also inappropriate for an unmarried woman. "Although there's no denying it'll look well on you."

Peggy forbore to mention that marriage was not on the cards for her anyway, and concentrated on pinning her hair into the looser, softer style she wore when she wasn't on duty. This too was a step away from the unbound hair an unmarried maiden in their community would wear for festivals, but her mother only shook her head and let it pass. She helped lace the dress up over the fancy, embroidered shift Peggy had brought to wear with it, and Peggy tied on the full-length embroidered white apron that went with the dress. It was still a traditional style for women in their community.

"That looks well," her mother said with satisfaction, "though it'd look a shade better still if you'd only wear sandals like any other girl."

Peggy was wearing close-fitting suede boots to the knee under her petticoats, because she would be riding Rowenna to the Square.

"No one will see."

"They will if you hike your skirts up to dance, silly girl!" Her mother huffed a little. "Were I ten years younger I'd come with you, and show you how it's done."

"Why don't you?" Peggy was sure Steve would take it in his stride, and the idea of introducing him to her mother – and of seeing her mother enjoy herself wholeheartedly in the street dances – had a strong appeal.

Her mother snorted and patted her cheek, giving her a knowing look. "And put a crimp in your business? I think not! Another year mayhap, but you'll be glad I stayed here to keep Tomas and the others from making a stupid fuss over you going out in the streets on your own at Festival."

Peggy rolled her eyes. "I won't be alone; Rowenna will be with me."

"They're foolish enough to think she's little more than a very smart horse."

She kissed her mother's cheek. "But you're not, and that's all that matters."

Her mother chuckled. "Now, you need something to set off this finery and catch your friend's eye ..." She busied herself fishing her jewellery box out of its hiding place, and unlocking the lid to display her small selection of necklaces, pins and bracelets. She handed over a pretty bracelet of red glass beads.

"Mum ..."

"Put it on. You think I didn't give things to your sister when she courted that clown she wed?"

That was rather unfair, Peggy thought. Granted, her brother-in-law sometimes seemed to lack commonsense, but he was a very fine potter and he treated Mirri like a queen. And any foolishness in him was more than off-set by the good business sense of her sister and his mother.

She became aware that her mother was hesitating over the jewellery box before she seemed to come to a decision. She fiddled with something on the side of the box – there was a soft click – and she lifted out the divided section containing all her ornaments, to reveal a cleverly hidden compartment beneath.

"I didn't know your jewellery box did that," Peggy said, surprised.

"You do now, and that makes just the two of us," her mother said sternly. "My mother's brother made this for me. He made all manner of clever boxes and tables for folk with money and things to keep safe, and he made a pretty penny at it too." She paused significantly. "Your father never knew."

She dipped into the compartment and drew out a roll of felt. "I had a number of suitors before I married," she said casually, "and for a little while I was promised – secretly – to marry one fellow who was ..." For a moment her eyes went far away and there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Well, he had what I needed in a man, let's put it that way."

"Ah," Peggy said uncomfortably, although she was fascinated by the story.

"But it wasn't to be," her mother said more briskly. "His parents and mine had other plans. He was generous though. I offered to give these back but he wouldn't have it." She unrolled the felt to display a delicate necklet and earrings of gold with garnets. "I haven't worn them since we parted, because your father was the suspicious, jealous type."

What little Peggy remembered of her father, who had died when she was eight, supported that. She suspected her mother had had a difficult life with him, especially as he hadn't been as much of a businessman as his own father, leaving the family in difficult straits. Her brothers owed their inheritance to their mother's capability.

"Wear these," her mother said firmly. "Here – let me deal with the necklet, the catch is difficult. Wear them tonight, and take them home with you when you go. They're yours now."

"Mum," Peggy said, troubled, "they mean something to you."

"And that's why I want you to have them. Why wait until I'm gone? Better to look beautiful now, when there's someone worth wasting it on."

"You seem to have drawn a lot of conclusions about him already," Peggy said, a little amused.

"I didn't raise any of my children to be fools," her mother said, locking up the jewellery box and putting it away, "but I made a little extra effort with you and your sister. The world's hard enough for women, without foolishness to make matters worse."

"You did very well by us." Peggy spontaneously hugged her. "You would have made a wonderful Herald, you know."

Her mother chuckled. "I would have enjoyed that," she acknowledged, "but I don't repine. I've done well enough."

 

xXx

 

The Candlemaker's Arms (also known as the Old Rush-Dipper, the Tallow Pot, or the Snuff-It-And-Run, depending on where in lower city you haled from) was in the part of the Pottery District that bordered the Strangers Quarter, and it was certainly a little livelier than where the Carter family's business was located. Peggy had spent festivals in places that were far more dangerous than this, however, and as with so many things a great deal depended on how you interpreted what was going on and how prepared you were to deal with it. What she saw, as Rowenna paused in a side alley to let her dismount, was a great many people determined to celebrate the safe arrival of spring with food, drink and dancing. There was a group of mummers performing a rather frank version of the Goddess Awakening passion play, to the loud encouragement of a cluster of people sitting on benches outside the tavern, while on the other side of the Square, a group of men and women were already skipping through a dance measure, accompanied by a trio of minstrels.

 _Sam is here already,_ Rowenna said. _He's listening to a storyteller a couple of streets over. If you don't mind, I think I'll join him._

_Of course – go and enjoy yourself. Do you want me to remove your tack first? The landlady will let me store it in her back room._

_No, I'll be fine._ Rowenna nosed her gently. _You enjoy yourself too._

_I don't suppose Sam said where Steve is?_

_No, only that he's here._

_I'll be lucky to find him in this throng,_ Peggy said wryly, but she patted Rowenna's cheek. _Off you go – I'll find you later._

The crowd was tremendous, and without the benefit of being on Rowenna's back it was impossible for Peggy to see much of what was happening in the Square, but Steve had said The Candlemaker's Arms, so she found a seller of sweet cider, bought a moderate cupful, and found the end of a bench to sit on that wasn't close enough to the mummers to risk being pulled into their skit.

And there she sat for a good half-candlemark, as the sun began to set and more and more people flowed into the Square.

Someone swung a leg over her bench and sat down astride it, over-familiarly close, and Peggy prepared to deploy her elbows against him.

"Buy you another drink? Or maybe you'd like to dance?"

Peggy recognised the face and the voice. "Sergeant Barnes," she acknowledged him, coolly.

His eyebrows twitched up. "Didn't think you'd remember me. Should I be flattered?"

"Not really. I remember all kinds of people, it's a useful skill." Peggy definitely remembered him though. Of all of Steve's squad of specialists – the so-called Howling Commandos – Barnes had been the one most determined to press his attentions on her, and not in the friendly, joking way that the others had. He was a man who knew he was attractive (and he was, she would grant him that) and he was put on the defensive if he didn't get the attention he expected. That he was also Steve's oldest crony was an added twist; she'd got a strong impression from him before that he hadn't appreciated her preferring Steve, but there had been a whiff of jealousy there too which she was still curious about. She wondered what Natasha would make of him.

She would probably throw him around for a while, then take him to bed and _really_ make him hurt. Natasha didn't do recreational sex as such. She seemed to view it as another form of training.

It would do Barnes good to have his ego deflated a little by someone like Natasha, Peggy thought uncharitably.

"So, what about that dance?" he asked.

He made the offer as though he thought he was doing her a favour. It occurred to her that he was exactly the kind of man that her three brothers would be most alarmed at the thought of her meeting in a place like this. Little did they know.

"No, thank you," she said, allowing her attention to wander back to the mummers rather pointedly.

"Why, what are you waiting for?"

"The right partner," she replied coolly.

"He doesn't dance."

Peggy turned to look at him, and raised one unimpressed eyebrow. "In general, or just with you?" she asked.

For a second his eyes widened and he seemed genuinely taken aback. Then it was gone again, hidden under a practised smirk. "Damn, lady, you bite!"

"Oh, that's just an ugly rumour." So on some level he _was_ jealous. That was something to be borne in mind.

Barnes and Steve had been friends for a long time, however, and in pretty adverse conditions for a significant part of it; a monastery orphanage by Exiles Gate had to have been fairly grim, no matter how honourable the monks' intentions. And they'd stuck together right through basic training in the Guard and deployment to one border post after another. It was quite conceivable that this was the first time they'd ever been parted for any length of time. No matter the nature of his feelings for his friend, Barnes had to be struggling with this change in their relationship.

Peggy's people skills were good; she'd spent a lot of time working with Herald Ansel, the Queen's Own, and with people like Kolsen and Natasha, whose understanding of human motivations was forensically sharp. She literally shared headspace with Rowenna, who existed to be her advisor as she went about Herald business. But even without all of that, she would have to be incredibly stupid not to recognise that she made a useful personification of everything that had recently come between Bucky Barnes and his best friend.

In fact, right at that moment she was _literally_ sitting there, waiting to become the wedge that could drive the two of them apart.

Damn. Only a very nasty piece of work could carry on blithely under those circumstances –

 _He's a grown man,_ Rowenna interjected sharply. _You didn't force him to discover his friend's plans just so he could come here to scupper them or force a confrontation. He made a choice to do that. And he needs to grow up and deal with the fact that whichever way things go this evening, Steve is embarking on a new life without him. He can do it graciously and keep his friend, or be a dog-in-the-manger and live with the consequences._

 _That doesn't mean I can't try to help him through this,_ Peggy replied.

_Absolutely. But don't start blaming yourself if he refuses to be helped._

As with everything in life, there was more than one way she could approach this, but Peggy didn't think finessing was the way to go with Barnes; too many opportunities for him to twist the conversation around. And so far, being blunt seemed to have worked in her favour, so ...

"You grew up with him, didn't you?" she said, more a statement than a question. It was just a gambit to get him talking, while she dropped her shields just the tiniest bit and tried to gauge what was going on behind his eyes.

Even in Valdemar the Gifted were a fairly small minority, but the true rarity was someone with absolutely no sensitivity at all, and like a good ninety-five percent of the population Barnes had just enough to make it possible for a trained MindSpeaker like Peggy to get a 'feel' for his mood without actually having to touch his mind. Not that what she found was any surprise. He was angry, suspicious, a little panicky, and – more than anything else – hurting.

More importantly, however, he didn't seem to have come to the Square with any fixed plan. The 'plan' had been to find her, and now that he'd done that he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He seemed to have been expecting her to react differently somehow.

Peggy could work with that.

Barnes smirked at her. "More like I brought him up single-handed."

That was a strange thing for him to say, considering that he and Steve were the same age. But perhaps he genuinely saw it that way. "Oh?" she said encouragingly.

"Kid was a trouble-magnet, always getting into fights and having to be fished out of them."

She smiled slightly. "Judging by his army record, I'd say nothing much has changed then."

He snorted. "Damn right."

Then again, perhaps at one time Barnes had been the leader and Steve the follower. Yes, that would fit, in which case she wondered how he had weathered the bump in the road that had been Steve being promoted over him. That had to have been a knock to his pride.

But _this_ knock was different, and potentially much more damaging.

"What are you and his other friends going to do now he's been Chosen?" she asked.

The look he gave her was unreadable, but the panic and hurt was suddenly _right_ there. "You tell me. What's gonna happen to Steve when he gets his pretty white uniform?"

Peggy shook her head. "I can't answer that; I don't know what the Circle has planned for him."

"Yeah, right." He looked away for a moment, and when he turned back the anger was in his face. "Come on, you gotta have some idea. You made this happen."

Peggy blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You turn up one day and look at Steve like you'd really like to eat him for breakfast. Then you pull a disappearing act, and less than a month later the Companion turns up for him. And you're trying to tell me you had nothing to do with that?"

 _Oh_. She drew in a slow, careful breath. "It doesn't work that way, Sergeant. Who the Companions Choose and when is entirely their own business, and they don't share their reasons with us. The fact that I visited a short while beforehand is just coincidence."

"Right."

"In fact – " Peggy chewed her lip for a moment, not sure how comfortable she was admitting this. But it needed to be said. "In fact, I can't honestly say I'm one hundred percent happy he was Chosen."

Barnes stared at her, but she'd got his attention. "It seems like every child in Valdemar wants to be a Herald when they grow up," she continued, "but there's a damn good reason why so many parents aren't happy when their sons and daughters are Chosen. You'd have to be mad to want this life for them. Did you know that the average lifespan of a Herald posted to Lake Evendim is a third less than a member of the Guard units there? I could give you the statistics of how many Heralds make it to forty-five without a life-changing injury, let alone just _alive_ , but I don't want you to panic and try to kidnap Steve." She paused. "I might have to help you if you did." That startled a laugh out of him.

"So no, I didn't set this up to happen, and even if I could I wouldn't have done so. I told him when he arrived in Haven that I left your camp without warning because I liked him too much to say goodbye – well, I also like him too much to be overjoyed that he's joined the ranks of a bunch of people who paint targets on their own backs every time they leave the Palace walls."

Peggy took a breath. "But I won't lie to you – I'm glad as well, because I believe he'll make a really good Herald, and ... I like him very much. When I left your camp, I didn't think I'd see him again." She shrugged helplessly. "Now at least I'll see him some of the time."

It was hard to tell from his face what he was thinking of this, but some of his suspicion of her was fading from his thoughts at least. "Just some of the time, huh?" he said.

"I don't know what duties he'll be assigned, but the average circuit lasts about a year and a half," Peggy replied, "and he'll ride at least one circuit, because that's a standard internship assignment and only the heir to the throne does something different. It's likely he'll be in Whites before the end of the year, and he'll go out on internship within a month of that. After that – assuming he pulls a standard set of assignments – he'll be riding circuits with a three month rest period between them. That's just an average, mind you, and it assumes he isn't out for injury and doesn't pull a more specialised duty at some point."

Barnes was silent for a while, digesting this. "You don't ride circuits," he said finally, and it sounded a little like a challenge.

"No, not since my third year in Whites. Officially I'm a Special Messenger, but I'm attached to the office of the Lord Marshal's Herald and my assignments usually relate to the Guard." This was a lot more information than would normally be entrusted to a non-Herald, especially a common soldier, but Peggy thought it was worth explaining a little of how the Circle worked to Barnes if it would cool his suspicions and resentment. "I can get called out at any time – even now. Technically I'm on holiday for Festival, but if they need me I'll have to drop everything and go. But you know, that's true of all Heralds – we all do what we must, just as you and your Company go where you must when there's trouble."

"We were hoping – me and the other boys in the Commandos – that Steve'd get assigned back to us," he said.

Peggy thought about the squad of specialists that Steve had introduced her to during their first meeting – not just Barnes, who everyone called Bucky, but Dum-Dum, Falsworth, Morita, Gabe, Dernier, Pinky, Juniper and Happy. It had been obvious that they were a close-knit team.

"I don't know," she said gently, "but Heralds don't usually get assigned permanently to specific Guard Companies. There aren't enough of us for that."

"Right," he muttered. His expression was so ... so indescribably _mixed_ , that Peggy fixed her gaze on the mummers for a few moments, to give him at least the illusion of privacy. Then he dragged in a breath, rubbed his face briskly with both hands, and seemed to pull himself together. "So. What about squads getting assigned to specific Heralds?"

The hostility was gone, and he was giving her a rueful smile that Peggy returned gladly.

"I can think of a few occasions when that would have been really useful," she said. "I'll suggest the idea to my boss." And who knew? Kolsen was flexible enough that he might actually take it on board.

"You do that," Barnes told her, and he sounded serious. "Steve doesn't get to shake us off that easy."

"I'd be disappointed in you if he could." Peggy pushed her mostly-empty mug away. "So, Sergeant – since my original choice of partner seems to be taking his time getting here, was that offer of a dance real or was it just talk?"

His eyebrows twitched up. "Sure - if you think you can keep up with me."

 _Good idea,_ Rowenna put in unexpectedly. _Just so you know, Steve's lurking on the other side of the Square. Sam and I held him back until you had your chat with his friend, but there's an excuse-me dance starting and if you time it right he can butt in at a suitable moment._

"Bold words," Peggy teased, and she stood up. "Come on then."

The dance had already started by the time they pushed their way through the revellers, but that was no problem with a less-structured excuse-me – Barnes slid an arm around Peggy's waist and twirled her into the throng easily. He was a good dancer; another swordsman, she thought, and not one who was merely competent but someone who genuinely had a feel for the weapon, which was surprising for Steve had mentioned that Barnes was the archer of the Commandos, a natural bowman. Steve's former squad-mates were full of interesting and unexpected qualities; she was certainly going to have to speak to Kolsen about them.

But in the meantime, she felt perfectly comfortable attempting some of the more energetic dance moves with him that the less nimble were – for the most part – wisely avoiding. In fact she was having so much fun that the sudden change in the music signalling a change of partners took them both by surprise. Peggy was catching her breath when Steve appeared next to them, smiling cautiously.

"Mind if I cut in?" he asked.

Barnes cocked an eyebrow at her, then raised both of them at his friend challengingly. "You know what – I think maybe I do mind," he drawled.

Peggy felt a tickle of mischief which would not be denied at the way the two of them were eyeing each other, and she took a pointed step back.  "No, by all means," she told Steve with a smile.  "He's not a bad dancer."

The _really, lady?_ look Barnes gave her was everything she could have hoped for, especially when he looked at Steve and said, "You tread on my toes, Sweetcheeks, and we're done."

Steve gave him a patently fake smile.  "Gotta say, you're really not my type."

"What?  I'm a brunette."

"That's not what I heard."

Peggy laughed before she could stop herself.

"Next you'll be sayin' I'm not a real woman."  But Barnes had had his fun and he stepped back, clasping a hand to his chest dramatically.  "Insults from every side!  I'm done here.  Play nice with the lady, soldier, or I'll have to hurt you."

"Reckon she's well able to handle herself," Steve advised him, but he smiled – and _gods_ , Peggy thought, but they were going to have to do something about his transparency because his relief and affection for his friend were both right there for everyone in the Square to see.  "See you later, Buck."

"Sure, sure …"

Barnes saluted the two of them, giving Peggy an elaborate bow that she replied to with an equally elaborate curtsey, and he melted away into the crowd.

Peggy turned to Steve and raised an eyebrow at him. "Your friend set a high bar for you to jump over," she said, as the music began to pick up again. "Think you're up to the challenge?"

"Tell you what, let's give it a try," Steve returned easily, and he put an arm around her waist, swinging her back into the dance. "If I can't keep up, we can head out and find something that suits us a little better, what d'you think?"

"I think that sounds perilously like a plan, which is just _begging_ the gods to laugh at us again," Peggy warned him, amused, but she put a hand on his shoulder and followed his confident lead. "Let's risk it."

 

xXx

 

Steve was a better dancer than he or his friends gave him credit for, but the two of them were ready to try something different long before the musicians in the Square were, so by mutual consent they struck out to discover how the Festival was being celebrated in the surrounding streets. This part of the Pottery District bordered the Strangers Quarter, so it didn't take long for the two of them to get caught up in the more exotic celebrations kept alive by the multitude of tiny immigrant communities in that sector of Haven.

Steve paused at one point to buy them each a spiced honey-apple on a stick, and check in with Sam. The Companion was keeping company with Rowenna and Castiel's Eslan in a courtyard somewhere further inside the Strangers Quarter. There was a storyteller and, apparently, the promise of a performance by a dancing goat presently.

 _Whatever floats your boat, buddy_ , Steve told him, startled and amused.

"A _dancing goat?_ " Peggy said, incredulous, when he related this to her. "I don't think I want to know. Do I want to know? How does anyone get a goat to dance?"

"No idea - I'm curious, but not that curious," Steve admitted, with a chuckle. "Anyway, they're all fine where they are."

"I didn't realise Castiel had come into the lower city too," Peggy commented, as they walked slowly along, attempting to eat the apples without getting covered in honey.

"I rode down here with him," Steve said. "He told me he has a sweetheart down here – they were gonna meet up."

"Really?" Peggy was intrigued. "I had no idea. He was a priest - I thought he'd taken vows!"

"Guess he's renounced them," Steve said easily, a little amused by her delight. "Oh hey, no priming the gossip network! I kinda got the idea he was keeping it under wraps for now."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she agreed. "That's sweet though!"

"I don't know about sweet," Steve said dryly, "since it's a guy."

"Oh!" Peggy gave him a sidelong look. "Does that bother you?"

"Nope," Steve said easily, and it really didn't bother him. "Not my thing, but it's no skin off my nose who folk step out with. They should be able to love who they want to love, so long as everyone's consenting and no one's getting hurt. Right?"

"Absolutely. And it's good that Castiel has someone – he's so far from home."

"Yeah, I just hope he don't get stung."

Peggy blinked. "What makes you say that?" she asked.

Steve shrugged uncomfortably. "His buddy's a Watch Captain. I did time as a runner in the Watch, before I enlisted, and it's just ... well, a lot of guys in the lower city, they get hardened. Life can be tough here. And the Watch gets the worst of it. I'm not sure Castiel gets that, he's from a real different kind of place. His family has money and rank, you know?"

"I only know the bare outline of his previous life," she said thoughtfully. "You know him much better than I do. But ..."

"But?" he prompted her.

Peggy smiled a little. "You didn't get hardened."

Steve smiled too. "According to Bucky, that's 'cause I spent too much time with the monks at the orphanage."

"I don't see a downside to that," she said.

"Neither did I until Buck and Sam both told me the monks are eunuchs."

She choked on a laugh. "Oh no, not really?!"

Steve nodded, mock-sadly. "Gotta say, that threw me a little – I never even guessed!"

Peggy suddenly stopped and turned to face him, taking his hands in hers. "Steve," she said solemnly, "is there anything you need to tell me?"

He was momentarily distracted by the faint honey-stickiness of her fingers, but then he realised that this was an opportunity to pay her back, just a little, for the way she had caught him out in that village tavern several moons ago.

"I'm pretty sure everything's still where it should be," he teased her, "but hey, if you want to check ..."

He should have known better. Peggy gave him a speculative look, and nodded. "I'll take you up on that," she said, straight-faced.

Steve gaped at her, then began to laugh. "Am I ever gonna get the better of you?"

"Arguably, I think you already have," she said with a cryptic little smile, but when he raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, the smile turned warm and she tugged at his hand. "Come on, I see some jugglers over there ... have you ever juggled before?"

"No, but something tells me I'm about to try," Steve said ruefully. "Let me guess – you're secretly a champion juggler too."

"Not a bit of it," Peggy assured him, chuckling. "I can throw knives – though you wouldn't think so if you could hear what Natasha has to say about my form! – but juggling is something I've never got the knack of. Always wished I could though. Now show me up by catching the trick first try!"

He didn't quite get it first try, but Steve was pleased to find that he picked it up easily, managing after some wobbly practice to keep four sand-filled leather balls in the air. Which was nothing compared to the professional jugglers, of course, who were cheerfully tossing batons and knives and flaming torches up in the air and to one another in the most negligent way, but his small success brought joking encouragement from everyone.

Peggy made one attempt with three of the balls, fumbled them almost at once, and laughingly gave up.

Then they got pulled into a long circle dance that was winding around a well-head. At one point Steve was sure he saw Castiel on the other side of the line of dancers, but in the chancy light of flare-torches around the square it was hard to tell, and they were pulled away in the opposite direction anyway.

There were a great many more food sellers out in the streets of the Strangers Quarter, and Peggy was keen to sample the more unusual snacks being peddled. Steve was a little warier, partly because he'd spent the last few years eating army rations, which were passable but had leached away his tolerance for spices and sour pickles, and partly because he'd spent his childhood learning the hard way that _some_ street foods were a little too sketchy on provenance for his digestion's comfort. But Peggy pointed out the things that they could either watch being cooked or which had clearly been simmering for hours, and they ended up sitting on the broad steps of a temple with a wide platter of small dishes between them, and sharing a spoon and two belt-knives.

Peggy sampled all the new foods with enthusiasm, and she made no bones about eating with gusto; something Steve had noticed about her before. It was a curiously attractive trait and, he suspected, illustrative of something more fundamental about her character. He was reminded of a saying his mother had told him was popular among the men of the Pikes, of which his father had been one: _Eat, drink, be merry. Tomorrow we may die._ That same cheerful acceptance of fate, and the need to enjoy life where opportunity offered, was common to the Heralds too.

"So," Peggy said, breaking into his train of thought. "Does this count as an early breakfast or a very late dinner?"

Steve smiled. "I reckon festival snacks fall into their own category."

"Drunkard food, my mother calls it, but that's one thing I don't have much taste for. Getting drunk, I mean."

"Me neither," Steve admitted, pleased to finally meet someone who seemed to feel the same way about strong liquor as he did. "I'll drink a beer to be sociable, but wine is kinda ... _eh_." He paused, then added conscientiously, "Could be the wine we were drinking, though. Either cheap or home-made. Sometimes both, I think. Anyway, I didn't much like the way it made me feel or the kind of things it made me want to do."

"If I'm going to do something excessively stupid or ridiculous," Peggy said, spearing a strip of meat in a sticky, sweetish sauce, "I want to be fully in control of my wits and my actions, so afterwards I can own up to it like an adult."

"Or even just remember it," Steve agreed.

"But I feel compelled to point out that cheap, home-made wine is a very poor thing to base your opinion upon." She paused. "Do I want to know where you got it from?"

"Farmer," Steve said, "in the Kleimar region. Some of it, anyway."

As he'd half-hoped, Peggy's eyes nearly popped out at this. The Kleimar people had a reputation for a certain moral uprightness which manifested itself in sturdy religious observance and firm controls over what were, for most people, those things that made life most enjoyable. It went without saying that strong drink was deeply disapproved of.

"Ye gods! What did he make it _from?_ " she demanded.

"Root vegetables, he said." Steve grinned at Peggy's sudden deep snort of laughter; that was something else she did that he really liked. No demure titters from her.

"All right, I've heard enough – turnip wine is the _worst_." Then it was her turn to pause and consider. "No, I take that back. Onion wine is the worst."

Steve blinked. "You can make wine from onions?"

"Debatable." Peggy munched another strip of fried yam, swallowed and added, "I regret to say that not only does it taste dreadful – it also gives you the worst hangover, and more wind than a plateful of winter beans."

He couldn't smother a laugh. "I can't believe you said that."

"I warned you that my veneer of civilisation is only skin-deep."

"So was the wind-and-hangover thing a personal experience?"

"No, thank all the gods! I took a sip and decided discretion was the greater part of valour." Peggy saw his raised eyebrow. "The same couldn't be said for the squad of soldiers with me at the time. They were unbearable to be around for the better part of a day afterwards."

"That pretty much describes every squad I've ever known," Steve pointed out, grinning, but Peggy shook her head emphatically.

"No, this was _much_ worse, trust me! I was running out of excuses for Rowena and me to stay downwind of them."

"So," Steve said, as they were scraping the last of the little dishes clean between them. "I gotta ask – is it likely I'll be allowed to work with Bucky and the guys again when I get my Whites?"

Peggy sighed. "He asked me that too."

"Sorry."

She blinked. "For what?"

"I'm thinkin' he gave you a hard time," Steve said.

"Pfft! I've had worse interrogations than that! Besides, he's your friend ... it's difficult when someone you've been with for a long time suddenly gets Chosen."

"Still," Steve said doggedly, "what are my chances?"

"Small," she admitted, honest and frank. "That's not how we generally work. Even if you get pulled into more specific work later, you'll do at least one circuit first and more likely two or three, to get experience."

It was disappointing, but nothing he hadn't expected. "All right."

"That said," Peggy continued, and her tone was cautious, "I told Sergeant Barnes that I'll talk to Herald Kolsen about your team, and I meant that. They're a talented group. We could probably make better use of them."

That felt better. But her comment raised another question that had been bothering him for a while. "You've got the ear of the Lord Marshal's Herald," he said, pushing a leftover piece of breaded vegetable around his plate with the point of his knife. "I never liked to ask before, but – how high up in the chain of command are you?"

Peggy looked surprised by the question. "We don't have a chain of command the way the Guard does," she said.

"Someone's gotta be in charge," Steve pushed.

"Of course. But it's not quite what you're used to. We have the Circle – the Circle was explained to you in Orientation, I hope."

"Sure. There's the Queen, the Heir, and the Heralds to the Privy Council."

"Yes - the Queen's Own, Herald Ansel, the Seneschal's Herald, that's Maria, the Lord Marshal's Herald, which is Kolsen of course, and the Dean of the Heralds' Collegium, Herald Raylor, who is also the Heir for the time being. That's pretty much it as far as the hierarchy goes. The most senior of those under the Queen is the Queen's Own."

"And everyone else is just a Herald."

"No one is 'just' a Herald. But we don't have ranks, like the Guard or City Watch." Peggy wobbled one hand vaguely in the air. "There's a certain amount of seniority based on experience and skill-sets, but it's not something set in stone. The Armsmaster gets a degree of special licence, for instance, but that's not a hierarchical thing _within_ the Heralds as a whole, because the Armsmaster doesn't have to be a Herald."

"So you working with Herald Kolsen doesn't have a special status, then?" He had to admit, that was kind of a relief. Not because he had a problem with a woman being higher up the pay scale than he was, but because it was impossible for him to tell what implications, if any, that would have on their relationship.

"Not particularly. I just happen to have a skill-set that works well within his particular area. Sitwell does too, which is why we're both assigned to the Lord Marshal's office." Peggy shrugged. "Other Special Messengers have different areas – Herald Marisa does a lot of work with the Artificers, for example. And there are quite a few Heralds who work specifically with various Healing Temples. It really does depend on a person's skills."

And Steve's particular skill-set was distinctly army-related ... but he killed that thought before it could go too far. He already knew the dangers in getting ahead of himself.

So he helped Peggy to pile their dishes up, and they returned them to the stall-keeper they'd bought the food from.

 

xXx

 

"Where shall we go next?" Peggy asked, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. They were wandering away from the food stalls now, increasing their pace as they passed the more dubious-smelling carts.

"No idea," Steve replied, "but maybe we shouldn't go too far into the lower city, so how about we circle back and see what that storyteller is like that Sam told me about?" He was conscious that although the Strangers Quarter wasn't unusually dangerous on a night like this, it still wasn't precisely _safe_. And if they went much further they would end up entirely too close to Exiles Gate for Steve's comfort, a place to which the term 'safe' had never applied.

"Sounds good," Peggy said agreeably

So they turned back and began retracing their steps, taking a slightly different route. This led them past more groups of dancers - it was only polite to join in when invited to do so - and street entertainers, and other groups of noticeably younger composition who were playing noisy, excitable games like tag in the side streets. They got dragged into one of these games and bore it with good-humour, Peggy kissing the tipsy girl who grabbed her and gamely taking her turn with the blindfold. She seemed to view it as no more than fun, but Steve found himself watching out for her safety anyway, torn between keeping a sharp eye on the much drunker boys and eyeing the uneven cobbles lest she trip and fall.

 _Rowenna says to stop fretting_ , Sam said unexpectedly. He sounded amused. _Peggy made sure she could see under the blindfold when they put it on. Takes a lot more than a bunch of well-juiced younglings to pull one over on her._

 _Well 'scuse me for bein' a gentleman_ , Steve retorted amiably.

_You're someone's maiden aunt is what you are._

_That's no insult where I come from,_ Steve advised him. There had been a lot of very tough unmarried aunts in the streets where he'd been born.

Sam snorted his amusement.

In due course Peggy caught one of the boys, collected her kiss, and handed over the blindfold, enabling the two of them to slip away from the group while they were preoccupied with hooting at the new 'victim'.

"Sorry," Peggy said, a little pink-cheeked. "I could have caught you easily, but then you would have had to take a turn and we would never have got away from them."

He wasn't sure what to make of this, so he smiled at her and said "It's fine", wondering if he had missed something -

 _Oh for - ! She's worried you might think she was deliberately avoiding kissing you!_ Sam told him, exasperated.

_That … is not what I was thinking._

_Don't tell ME that, tell her!_

Sam disappeared again, before Steve could think to ask if he and Rowenna planned on butting out if (when?) he and Peggy managed to get further than hand-holding.

"The look on your face isn't really conveying 'fine' to me," Peggy commented, and when he looked at her she was raising an eyebrow to him in cautious query.

"Oh – no, it's not that. I just ..." Steve shrugged slightly. "You ever get the feeling the Companions have a really scary level of involvement with us? No, wait – that's not what I mean, not exactly – "

"They're like a bunch of nosy, benevolent laundresses," Peggy said succinctly, and nodded at his relieved expression. "No, believe me, we're all aware of that. I'm sure I warned you about it when you first arrived."

"Yeah, you did," Steve said wryly. "I didn't realise you actually _meant_ it."

She chuckled. "In fairness – and please tell me you've already discovered this – most Heralds are benevolently nosy too."

"Er ..."

"Oh dear. I'll just emphasise the _benevolent_ part, shall I?"

"My mama raised me not to be nosy," he explained.

"I'm sure you'll soon get over it," she said encouragingly, and Steve laughed. "No, I mean that! Well, sort of. Part of our job involves being inquisitive, Steve. Sometimes you really have to _push_ a little to get to the bottom of things, if you're doing an ordinary circuit at least." She made a face. "In my case, it's a little more literal. Which is to say, it's not unusual for me to have to punch or shoot someone to get answers. But that's army work for you."

Considering that she'd punched a mouthy private from his company when he'd made a saucy remark to her – and nearly knocked him out in the process – Steve had no problem believing this. And he smiled to himself, because anything that kept cocky soldiery on their toes was just dandy by him.

"What's your weapon?" he asked.

Peggy slanted a glance at him. "We get trained in a wide variety of weapons," she said, "as I'm sure you know by now. You never know what you're going to have to make do with, out in the field."

"Sure. But you've got a favourite, right?"

"Well, the bow and short sword are classics for us. I can handle a longbow, but for practical purposes I use a recurve. And since I'm not a snob about these things, I'm equally happy when someone hands me a well-maintained crossbow. I carry a short sword, simply because it's more practical, and I can fence but I'm no master and anyone will tell you my form is very bad."

"Really?"

She gave him a bland look. "Apparently, I treat my foil too much like a weapon."

Steve's brow furrowed. "But it is a weapon."

"That's my argument – that it _is_ a weapon. But no, the Court fencing masters all insist that fencing is an art form, and treating the foil like a weapon is crude and ill-mannered."

"That's gotta be the first time I've heard anyone call you _crude_ , even second-hand," Steve commented, amused. "I guess those fencing masters have never been in battle though."

"That's the funny thing – at least one of them served as an officer in the last war with Karse, and lost his left hand in the process." She smiled. "I don't think even he would try to fence with the Vkandis priests, though."

"So – a bow, a crossbow, a short sword – anything else?"

"I like my throwing knives very much. I couldn't wear them tonight because my sleeves aren't long enough. I do have my knuckle-dusters with me, though?"

"Girl after my own heart," he said.

"That's just part of what I'm after," she retorted, and he laughed.

 

xXx

 

The storyteller was in a small square, seated on the steps of an ornamental fountain. He was surrounded by people; very few children by this hour, but numerous adults and elderlies, all of whom were past the point of dancing and fooling around, but not yet ready to call it a night.

There were several Companions there too, not just Sam and Rowenna but also Eslan and a couple of others Steve didn't recognise. He couldn't tell if their Heralds were about, although in the course of finding a spot to sit down, he saw Castiel sitting a few feet away from the storyteller. There was a young man wearing some kind of traditional costume leaning against his shoulder; he looked vaguely familiar, but Steve was too tired to run down his identity in his mind.

It wasn't until the two of them sat down that Steve realised the long night was catching up with him. He'd stood night watches aplenty in the army, but the combination of dancing, eating, drinking, and the long idling walk through the city streets was a different sort of activity. He was glad to take the weight off his feet, and from the way she immediately sagged against him, he guessed Peggy felt the same.

 _Catch me up on the story, will you, buddy?_ he asked Sam.

 _You sure you don't have something better to do?_ Sam asked archly.

 _Maybe later,_ Steve replied vaguely, too tired to fully notice, let alone take offence at, the innuendo.

 _Your loss_ , Sam replied amiably, and he gave a swift summary of the plot.

A short time later, and not really any closer to following the story, Steve was alerted to the weight of Peggy against his shoulder by the faint but unmistakeable snores in his left ear. He'd been fighting sleep manfully, but this decided him. A very brief nap was perhaps in order, so he let his cheek settle against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

 

xXx

 

Something nudged Peggy's arm, forcing her to open her eyes and look around.

Rowenna was peering down at her. _If you don't move now, your neck and back will hate you in the morning._

 _I think they hate me already._ Peggy peered around blearily, moving her head as little as possible. _And I think it's morning already._

 _For a given value of 'morning'_. Rowenna sniffed. _You should probably find somewhere nicer to sleep, and_ I _want to find a comfortable place to nap. Somewhere with a roof and walls, since it's going to rain soon._

 _Good point._ Peggy sat up slowly and carefully, which was just as well because she'd fallen asleep on Steve and in her experience someone with his training did not react well to being awakened too sharply.

He woke up anyway, of course, but at least he didn't pull a knife on her in the process. "Hm, what?" he mumbled, and he rubbed his eyes slowly. "I'm not asleep … not really."

"Good, because I'm going to struggle to get into my own saddle - getting you into yours is well beyond my abilities right now," Peggy said, with a sigh, and she stood up. "Ooh, ouch … pins and needles."

Sam approached and gave Steve a firm nudge in the ribs, which had the effect of getting him onto his feet too. "Yeah, buddy, I know." Steve looked around. "Huh - wonder what happened to Castiel?"

"I think he and a few of the others must have lodgings here for the night," Peggy said.

"I didn't think of that. Guess I'd better head back to the Collegium. You coming?"

 _I don't think Sam's too impressed by that idea,_ Rowenna said, amused.

 _Neither am I!_ "I have a better idea," Peggy offered. "Just one problem with it."

"This is like a night on the town with Bucky." Steve breathed a laugh. "Hit me with it, woman."

"It'll probably involve climbing through a window …"

"Sure it does. Do we have to break the latch to get the window open too?"

"Certainly not! My mother knows me pretty well, I'll have you know. She'll have left it unlatched for me on purpose."

Steve's slow smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes. "It runs in the family, huh?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Peggy told him. And she grinned.

 

xXx

 

Climbing in through a window, sneaking through the house in the dark, stealthily opening the gates to let someone into the courtyard … Peggy was reminded of a score of mischievous adventures from her childhood, with her sister and even her brothers, before Rowenna had come to Choose her. In fact, she was enjoying so much remembering where all the creakiest floorboards were etcetera, that it didn't occur to her that there might be any awkwardness to the situation until Steve hesitated when she closed the door of her old bedroom behind them.

"Uh …" He was rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed. " I can sleep on the floor if you give me a blanket."

It was definitely too early in the morning for this argument; and there were potentially too many pairs of ears nearby, if it came to that. Peggy considered several possible responses in a split second, and went with the one her gut had been prompting her with since the first moment she set eyes on Steve.

She grabbed the front of his tunic with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, dragged him down to her level, and kissed the breath out of him.

"Absolutely not," she told him, when they'd both sort-of got their breath back. Steve's eyes were huge in the half-darkness.

"This is not how I imagined this going," he whispered dazedly.

"But you _were_ imagining it, so that's a good start," she whispered back, approving. "Let's try putting it into practice next, shall we?"

It wasn't so dark that she couldn't see his sudden grin.

"I've gone along with you this far - why stop now?"

 

xXx

 

When she had lived in this house, before being Chosen, Peggy and her sister - who had shared the room with her - had never been allowed to sleep much beyond sunrise. So as odd as it might seem, she had never before discovered that at a certain point in the morning the sunlight hit the shutters on her window at precisely the right angle to filter through all the small cracks in the boards and hit her on the face. It turned out that this was very irritating and not at all compatible with sleep.

After a moment or two of squeezing her eyes tightly and swiping feebly at her face with one hand, Peggy grunted in annoyance and turned over, putting her back to the window.

Which brought her face to face - or, more accurately, face to exquisitely muscled pecs - with her bedmate. He had his head propped on one hand and was watching her with a decided twinkle in his eyes.

 _Ah yes,_ her memory reminded her smugly, _mission accomplished._ "Good morning," she murmured. For a moment her eyes were strongly inclined to drift shut again, but she made herself open them and take a good look at Steve. "All right?" she asked cautiously, not quite sure what to make of his expression.

"All right," he agreed, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

"Excellent." Peggy took a moment to stretch, then sighed. "Please tell me that my senses are cruelly deceiving me and it's not nearly midday."

"What - you'd have me lie to you already?"

"Ugh. I don't care what time it is, it's far to early for an honest man." He chuckled softly. "Is anyone else up yet, do you think?"

"There's definitely someone downstairs, 'cause that's bacon frying." His tone was wistful enough to make Peggy huff a laugh.

"Hungry already?"

"For so many things," he told her, with mock-gravity.

"Well, breakfast is doable," she told him, suppressing the urge to grin, "but the rest should probably wait until we're in a place where there are fewer of my relatives."

"Way to kill the mood ..."

"Only temporarily, I promise." She kissed the tip of his nose and sat up.

"Be honest with me," Steve said, as they got dressed, "how many crossbows am I gonna be facing when we go downstairs?"

Peggy chuckled, but shook her head. "One at most," she teased. "I'll be astonished if any of my brothers are awake yet, and I'm reasonably sure I can disarm my mother before she does too much damage to you."

"That's comforting," he drawled, amused. "Oh well. If I don't make it out alive, give Bucky my lucky playing cards and tell him it was all in a good cause."

"What, don't you trust me to take care of you, Captain Rogers?"

The honest look Steve gave her took Peggy by surprise.

"With my life, Herald Peggy."

"Well, good," she said quietly, after a moment, and she took his hand. "Because I trust you with mine unreservedly." She squeezed his fingers gently. "Now come and meet my mother." There was a sudden chorus of shouting voices from somewhere in the house, and she winced. "And my nieces and nephews. And possibly my sisters-in-law."

Steve eyes began to twinkle again. "And maybe your brothers?"

"Let's hope not," Peggy said firmly. "Ready?"

"Ready." He nodded.

Still holding his hand, Peggy led the way.

 

**_~ finis ~_ **

**Author's Note:**

> It is possible to make wine from onions. But as to the effects of drinking it, I have no personal experience and therefore can't offer an opinion :-)


End file.
